The Truth Beneath the Rose
by Katathean
Summary: Ceridwen Cousland was rescued by Duncan and brought to Ostergar to join the Grey Wardens. Unfortunately the last thing Ceri remembers is playing Dragon Age on her PS3. A slightly twisted re-telling of the Human Noble Origin.
1. Blackout

A/N - This story is a bit of conceit really and mostly grew up out of the insults I was shouting at the game. Well, that and the stuff that the Alistair and Zevran who live in my head were shouting too. The first chapter is rather short but they will get longer as I get into the story proper.

It's not particularly good literature but it got into my head and set up home there so I figured I might as well share it with you all. I always liked stories where modern day kids got thrown into a fantasy world and had to learn to survive (yes, I was addicted to Dungeons and Dragons as a kid). I know it's not a particularly original concept but I'm having a lot of fun writing it and that's what really counts right?

The title is a Within Temptation song - the lyrics are so accurate to the game it's scary and the song itself is so grand and epic that it's hard to believe it has no connection to Dragon Age at all. I'd already got the major plot details of the story down before I heard the song but it has become Ceri's anthem in my head and I feel reflects the doubt and anguish that the Grey Wardens must feel about their duty.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age or any of the characters (although I wouldn't mind borrowing Alistair for a week every summer). However Ceri and her world are mine (except for Southend High Street - I think the council owns that!)

* * *

**Chapter 1 – Blackout**

"Mum, I'm home!" Ceri Cousland cast a furtive look around the hall as she pushed the front door shut behind her. "Mum? Are you there?"

Not trusting the silent house Ceri checked each room in turn: kitchen, bathroom, her mum's room, sitting room and finally her own room. She even peered out of the back door to make sure her mum wasn't in the garden. Ceri retreated into her bedroom and shut the door, flicking the lock just to be on the safe side. Finally she unzipped her heavy coat and extracted the small package she'd hidden in the inside pocket. With shaking hands she stripped off the cellophane wrapper and ran her fingers over the embossed cardboard cover, which showed a huge blood-drenched sword surmounted by the legend: Dragon Age: Origins.

_Mum is going to kill me when she finds out,_ Ceri thought, feeling a little guilty. The concept that her mum might never find out didn't occur to her – her mum _always_ found out.

In this case, it was only a matter of time before Ceri's mum found out she'd bunked off her AS-Level mocks to spend three hours queuing up to get a copy of Dragon Age on the day it was released. To make it even worse she had blown all her spare money on the special edition rather than getting the normal version. The wait had been agonising. It was only a week to go before Christmas and with the presence of a rogue weather front coming down from the Arctic Southend High Street was six inches deep in snow. Well most of it was – there were paths trampled through the snow leading to the popular shops, paths that were now slick with ice. Ceri had waited patiently, her thick woolly hat pulled low on her ears, while matching gloves tried their best to keep her hands warm. There had been a sense of camaraderie in the queue – everyone was there for the same reason, after all. In fact, the only reason Ceri was there was because she'd seen the most fantastic trailer for the game on TV. There was something about it that had called to her, which was strange in itself because she didn't usually buy games based on adverts. She researched them online, checked out the story, read strategy guides to find out how difficult it was likely to be, before she ever even considered parting with her hard earned money.

To be honest, it was more her mum finding out how much money she'd spent than finding out she'd skipped her mocks. After all she _had_ told her form tutor she was sick, and everyone got sick from time to time. It had been so easy it was embarrassing. She'd sounded really ill on the phone, even to her own ears and her tutor had told her to go back to bed and to come back when she felt better. Told her not to worry, that she could take her mocks when she came back. Ceri had bundled herself up and set off for Southend on the next bus; she was canny enough to pick the big town in the opposite direction to college. She wasn't going to get caught out that way. But the money, that was the problem. Ceri was supposed to be saving her money for Uni; she'd already been told she wouldn't qualify for a grant or a bursary and she needed to raise the money to pay for her tuition, although she would still be living at home and her mum was willing to support her as long as she kept up her weekend job at the bowling alley. She'd blown so much money on the game, she really didn't want her mum to find out until she'd had a chance to get the enjoyment out of it.

Ceri turned on the PS3 and fiddled around with the TV, trying to get it to pick up the signal. Wretched thing was on its last legs and really didn't like being plugged into an ultra modern piece of technology. It had to be coaxed to put up a picture and even the slightest breath on the screen would result in a snow-storm to frustrate the most laid back soul. Watching the introduction sequence of the game, Ceri tried to take in what was going on and understand the background of what she was supposed to be doing. Then came the character selection. Ceri was astounded by the depth of detail she could adjust and after twenty minutes of fiddling and tweaking she came up with a female character that looked rather like her.

_Too tall, of course,_ she thought, _but what can you do?_

Stupid game had the elves being shorter than humans – what sort of ridiculous notion was that? Maybe she should have made her character an elf, so she would be the right height in relation to the other characters, but then she really wanted to play as a human noble. She'd overheard a couple of girls in the queue saying that if you played as a human you could get to be king or queen. That was worth a character that was far too tall, wasn't it? She began to play, exploring the halls and alleys of Castle Cousland as the younger child of the Teyrn of Highever. She'd been surprised when the generation screen for the human noble character had entered her name automatically but she assumed it had taken it from her online profile info, because there it was on the screen large as life: Ceridwen Cousland. Of course no one ever called her Ceridwen, well no one except her mum and only then when she was in trouble. She shook off the sense of foreboding that crept over her as she played – something was going to happen any minute she thought as she watched the Teyrn and his wife bidding their son farewell as he left to take their soldiers off to war. She battled through the same alleys she'd explored earlier, fighting against the soldiers of a treacherous friend of the Teyrn who had betrayed them and slaughtered family and guests alike. She had tears standing in her eyes as they found the Teyrn, wounded and dying, as Teyrna Eleanor chose to remain behind with him as the Grey Warden Duncan helped their daughter to escape.

She hit the control to save the game and the room went black. For one awful moment Ceri actually thought she'd gone blind. Then she laughed at the thought – it was just a power cut, nothing sinister at all. The power had been going on and off for days as the heavy snow played havoc with the electricity sub-station at the end of the road. She realised with a start that it had gotten dark while she'd been playing and her amusement faded as the thought occurred that she hadn't saved the game once in all the time she'd been playing. That made her set the controller down with a sullen pout and throw herself down on her bed to sulk. All that work, down the drain – she knew there must be a way to skip through conversations but she hadn't managed to find it yet and she wasn't looking forward to sitting through the archivist's lecturing again. Without heating the room grew cold quickly and Ceri began to shiver. She crawled under the duvet without bothering to get undressed and settled down to sleep. As she began to drift off, Ceri could have sworn that she could hear the sounds of people talking outside her window, the voices accompanied by faint clinking of metal.

_Probably someone come to work on the sub-station,_ she thought, turning her face deeper into the pillow. She was asleep long before she could remember that her bedroom faced onto the garden and there was no way she'd be able to hear anything from the road.


	2. Madness

**Chapter 2 - Madness**

It was the smell that dragged her up from her dreams: a reeking combination of burning wood, wet dog and too many people packed in together. She became aware of cold air on her face, far too cold for indoors, even with the power off. Her bed was too hard and very uncomfortable – she was covered with rough blankets not her thick goose-feather duvet. She blinked her eyes and a slanting canvas roof came into focus.

"What the hell?!" she exclaimed, bolting up from the bed. "Where am I?"

She looked around. She was in a small tent, just big enough for the bed-roll she'd abandoned. She looked down at herself – she was wearing trousers and shirt in rough, heavy wool and her feet were encased in thick stockings. Next to the bed roll was a furry mound that appeared to be breathing gently. About to poke at it Ceri started as a voice spoke just outside the tent flap.

"Lady Ceridwen? Are you awake?" The voice was deep and calm. It sounded familiar.

Ceri steeled herself and pushed back the canvas flap. Her senses reeled at the vast open space outside. The tent was on the edge of what looked like a ruined city. A huge fire was blazing merrily in the space in front of her – looking left and right she saw several similar tents. Beyond the fire was a massive camp, row after row of tents and fires. In the distance she could see two massive pavilions, one in blue and yellow, the other gold and green. The sounds of voices and dogs barking carried on the wind.

"Ah, you are awake," the voice spoke again.

Ceri looked round and saw a man watching her from beside the fire. He appeared to be in his fifties, although his hair and beard were still dark, there were lines around his eyes and he looked tired. She knew him.

"D-Duncan?" she said, her voice trembling.

"I must apologise for the accommodation," the Grey Warden said with a half smile. "It does not compare to the Teyrn's halls at Highever, I know."

Ceri shook her head, her mind whirling. She must still be dreaming, that was it. Dreaming or hallucinating. Too much PlayStation before bed, her mother would say. She dropped to the ground next to the fire, shivering from a cold that seemed to well up from inside her bones. Resting her head on her drawn up knees she fought down the urge to scream. This was all wrong. She knew where she was, of course: this was Ostergar, where King Cailan's army were preparing to face the Darkspawn Hoard. But it was insane. You just don't go to sleep in your own bed and then wake up in a place that only exists in a computer game. She drew in a deep breath and swallowed against the bile rising in her throat. What was she going to do? The first thing that came to mind was to retreat to the tent and hide under the blankets. She flinched when a large hand closed over her shoulder.

"Lady Ceridwen?" There was genuine concern in Duncan's voice. "I realise you have been through a great deal, but we do need to move swiftly."

Ceri could hear someone whimpering softly, a thin plaintive sound. It took her a moment to realise that the sound was coming from her.

"I can't," she said, voice muffled against her knees. "I don't belong here."

"The prospect of becoming a Grey Warden is daunting," Duncan said kindly. "But you will be fine. As I said before, I came to Highever with the idea of recruiting you. You are exactly what the Wardens need."

"You don't understand," she wailed, turning her head so she could see him. At least she would have if the tears welling up in her eyes hadn't blurred her vision to the point where she couldn't really see anything properly. "I don't belong here. Not here, not at all."

Duncan tried to calm her, but after a moment she buried her face in her knees once more and began to sob in earnest. Ceri didn't notice when he left but after some time, when her fear waned through sheer exhaustion she heard him talking to someone out of sight.

"I didn't realise the extent of her trauma. It seems that she doesn't remember who she is or why she is here."

"What happened to her?" This voice belonged to a woman. It was low and warm. "I need details, Duncan, if you want me to help her."

"Her entire family was murdered in front of her," the Warden replied. "Ceridwen was the only survivor."

"I see," the woman said. "Well I will try, Duncan."

Ceri heard footsteps approach and then someone sat beside her. She turned her head to see a white-haired woman dressed in soft brown robes, her lined face set in an expression of friendly concern.

"Duncan said you were unwell and asked me to speak with you. My name is Wynne. I am a mage."

"I'm Ceri," she said, her voice rough. "I don't understand how I got here but I don't belong here. I'm scared."

"Well, it is not unusual in these circumstances to feel afraid," Wynne said, laying a soothing hand on her shoulder. "Why don't you tell me the last thing you remember?"

"I went to bed. I was at home and I went to bed and then I woke up here." Ceri clutched the hand Wynne offered. "I don't know how I got here and I'm scared."

"Duncan says he brought you here from Highever. Is that where you remember being last?"

"You don't understand," Ceri wailed. "I don't come from Highever; I've never even been to Highever. I just woke up here and here shouldn't exist. This is all in my head. That must be it. I'm still dreaming right? Right?"

"Is that what you think then? That this is a dream?"

"It must be, this place is make believe, just pretend." Ceri's eyes filled with tears at the pitying look on Wynne's face. "You have to believe me, please. I don't belong here. I don't know what's happened to the girl Duncan brought from Highever but I'm not her."

"Lady Ceridwen, _you_ are the girl I brought from Highever," Duncan said as he approached the fire. "You have not been out of my sight since we left your father's estate. There is no possibility of a mistake."

"It is more likely that Ceri has suppressed the memory as a way of coping," Wynne added. "However I am concerned that she is so convinced that none of this is real, Duncan. Would it be fair to her to make her undergo the Joining in her present state?"

"We have no choice in the matter," Duncan said. "I'm sorry. I think it would be best for Lady Ceridwen to be busy at this time. Perhaps her memory will come back to her quicker if she has some other task to focus on."

"I think you're making a mistake Duncan but it is yours to make." Wynne got to her feet with a groan. She laid a kindly hand on Ceri's shoulder. "I will be in the mages' enclosure if you need someone to talk to, child."

Ceri watched her leave, feeling numb. She'd only just got to this part of the game when the power had gone out, she had no idea of what was supposed to happen next. She stared into the fire, trying to decide what to do.

_Well you have a choice,_ her inner voice said, sounding a little annoyed. _You can sit here and feel sorry for yourself, you can go and hide in your tent or you can find something to do and make yourself useful._

Feeling sorry for herself wasn't really working, was it? All _that_ had done was give her a headache and sore eyes from crying. Somehow she didn't think hiding was going to be of much help either. Her mum always said that if you didn't know what to do, then it was best to do something practical until you worked it out. She'd never had any patience with Ceri's crying fits, which although not frequent were usually stormy to say the least. Ceri's trouble was that once she was miserable enough to cry, she couldn't stop. She would spiral downwards in her misery, feeling guilty and stupid for being so childish, which in turn only served to worsen her mood. She had finally managed to control the shaking in her limbs and was having a fair degree of success in smoothing the miserable down-turn of her lips when a nudge at her elbow caught her attention. Looking round she met the eyes of the ugliest dog she had ever seen in her entire life. His head was square, body thickset and blocky with heavy powerful limbs and a short stumpy tail. It looked like a cross between a mastiff and a black bear, a huge brindled creature with a patch of black fur over one eye that gave it a rakish pirate look. The tail began to wag furiously, stirring the dust up in aggravated puffs. Adoring brown eyes locked on hers and a long pink tongue lolled out in a canine grin.

_Where'd you go? I was worried about you._ _Are you alright?_

Ceri stared in wonder at the beast. He hadn't spoken, she was sure of that, but all the same she knew exactly what that look meant. The dog nudged her elbow again then leaned up and licked her face from chin to hairline.

_Come on, cheer up! This is fun! New people, new smells. It's fun, yes?_

She sighed and found that a smile was tugging at her lips. The dog's enthusiasm was infectious, chasing away the cold fear that was gnawing on her heart and mind. The stumpy tail began to wag again as she scrubbed her fingers into the short fur around his ears.

"You're a good boy aren't you?" Her voice was worn down from crying and she couldn't speak much about a whisper without her throat hurting. "You're a good, clever, brave boy."

_Of course!_ The wagging tail and bright eyes seemed to say. _Your boy, yes?_

"Yes, you're my clever boy, my brave Khan-dog." Ceri didn't know why that name had jumped into her mind but it seemed to fit him.

"I see Khan has awakened," Duncan said. He was smiling down at them. "He was worried about you, Lady Ceridwen. You are fortunate to have a Mabari hound of your own."

Ceri looked from dog to man and sighed again. This was insane. She was in a world that didn't exist, talking to a man who couldn't be there and being leaned on by a dog that reeked of, well, damp dog. She contemplated again the idea of sitting where she was or hiding away in the tent. It wasn't going to happen though, was it? Sitting around thinking about her problem was only going to make her feel miserable again, then she'd start crying and then she'd end up with an even worse headache. Finding something practical to do seemed to be the only solution.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked Duncan, her fingers still busy about Khan's ears. "Even if I've gone mad I can't just sit here, can I? What can I do to help?"

"Go to the north of the camp and find a Grey Warden named Alistair," Duncan told her. "Tell him you need armour and weapons. He will take you to the quartermaster."

Ceri nodded and got to her feet. She'd taken two steps when she felt a tug on the back of her shirt. Turning she saw Khan sitting, looking expectantly at her with a pair of leather boots beside him. She looked down at her stocking feet and sighed for the third time. Not only mad but daft too. Fancy going off through an army camp without putting your boots on.

* * *

**A/N** - Ceri's first glimpse of Ostergar, and she's noticed what everyone else has - apparently Ferelden smells of wet dog. I know that in the game you only meet Wynne in passing at this point, but since when you speak to her she refers to Duncan by name I'm assuming that she already knows him. So who better to comfort a hysterical girl than everyone's favourite grandmotherly mage?

Khan was the name of my parents' Labrador/Alsatian cross when I was little - he was the most intellegent (and human) dog I have ever known, as Ser Gilmore says 'smart enough not to talk', unswervingly loyal, fiercely protective and he had a sense of humour that I have never come across in another dog. After playing through the city elf origin and getting 'Dog' and discovering what a scamp he was, it seemed only fitting to name Ceri's dog after the only Mabari I've ever known in the real world.


	3. Alistair

**Chapter 3 – Alistair**

As she wandered through the camp with Khan at her side, Ceri realised that not only had she not asked Duncan what this Alistair looked like but she also didn't have the faintest clue which direction north was. She stopped dead in the middle of the path and looked about her in confusion.

"Hail. You must be the new recruit that Duncan brought." The speaker was a soldier a few years older than Ceri. He smiled at her. "You look a little overwhelmed. Need a hand getting anywhere?"

"I'm supposed to find a Grey Warden called Alistair," she told him. "Problem is I don't know what he looks like and although Duncan said I had to go north, I don't know which way that is either."

"You are having a bad day aren't you?" he laughed. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating a huge ruin that looked like it had once been a cathedral. "North's that way. As for Alistair, I heard the Revered Mother sent him to the mages with a message. I'd listen for the screams of outrage if I were you. They tend to follow wherever he goes."

Ceri thanked him and headed in the direction he'd indicated. She ran her hands through her ragged hair, testing the length and half wishing she'd used the money she'd spent on the game at the hairdresser's instead. She felt messy and unkempt, a sensation which was only compounded by the mannish clothes she was dressed in. Ceri had no problem with wearing trousers, she lived in jeans most of the time, but these clothes were meant for someone much taller and bulkier than she was. She missed her figure-hugging t-shirts and the waistcoats she wore with them, her sleek party-dresses and her shoes. She halted for a moment, looking down at the heavy boots she was wearing. They were beyond ugly, the rough leather cracked and split, the soles feeling like they were weighted with lead. She thought of her own shoes, the beautiful silk pumps, strappy leather sandals and elaborate satin heels in every colour imaginable. Every pair chosen because they looked and felt just right, because she looked and felt just right wearing them. Her mouth turned down at the corners as she thought of her friends: of Merrill's constant encouragement to buy just one more pair of shoes, Kisa begging her to try on another dress or meeting up with Merrill's brother Mateo and his friends to party the night away. She was too young really to go to the clubs they did but so long as Mateo and his friends behaved and Ceri stayed away from the bar no-one interfered. Now she was stuck here and although seventeen was too young to drink or to marry without her mother's permission, it seemed that it was not too young to get into a war.

She followed the path as it climbed up through the camp. On one side she saw a group of people all wearing the same clothes as Wynne, surrounded by huge knights in ornate armour. They were scary, Ceri decided. She wasn't sure but she thought it was the massive helmets obscuring their faces rather than the armour, which was white except for a silver sword on the chest surrounded by stylised flames. Their legs were concealed by a sort of wrap-skirt in deep purple and gold, fastened at the waist by a sash. Past them she saw Wynne herself, chatting with another man in the same armour, but his head was bare. Ceri risked a hesitant wave, which became more certain as the mage smiled at her.

"Are you feeling any better, dear?" Wynne asked as she excused herself from her companion. "You look a little more cheerful."

"I figured it was best to keep busy," Ceri told her. "I still think I've gone mad but Duncan's been so nice to me that I wanted to make myself useful. Maybe this is all a dream and I'll wake up soon."

"So where are you off to, making yourself useful?" the mage asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Duncan said I have to find someone called Alistair," Ceri said. "I'm supposed to tell him that I need weapons and armour. I don't know what Duncan expects me to do with them once I get them though. I guess I'd know the blunt end of a knife from the pointy end but that's about it."

"Ah, Alistair, I see." Wynne's smile became wry. "Well, one thing I can guarantee you child – if you spend any time with Alistair you will not remain miserable for long."

"Someone said that I should listen for screams," Ceri confided, looking anxious. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

Wynne laughed and patted her shoulder.

"Oh don't worry child, it's not as bad as all that," she chuckled. "Alistair has a rather warped sense of humour but there's no malice in him. He just enjoys annoying people."

Ceri considered this as she went on her way. Khan stuck close by her as they entered the ruins to the north of the camp. Two servants were cleaning a large table surrounded by chairs and covered in maps off to her left. An angry voice rang out from her right and she turned towards it, assuming it to be the predicted screaming. She climbed a steep ramp and halted at the sight of a man dressed like Wynne yelling at a younger man in armour. The older man, presumably a mage, seemed to be offended by the other's presence as much as anything but Ceri couldn't make out the details of his complaint as the echoes of his voice bounced off the ruined structure. The younger man's voice, being at a more reasonable volume was easier to distinguish.

"And here I thought we were getting along so well. I was even going to name one of my children after you." The friendly tone descended into flat sarcasm as he added, "The _grumpy _one_._"

Ceri stifled a chuckle and ducked behind a convenient pillar when he looked round. Peeking out she saw he was still looking at her, and he was grinning. He winked and beckoned to her.

"I will speak with the woman," the mage growled, "out of my way, fool."

The angry man flounced away and straight into Ceri as she emerged from her hiding place. He glared down at her and his lip curled in disgust.

"Stupid elf," he snarled. "Get out of my way."

Ceri flinched back as he swung at her, his fist missing her nose by an inch. Then she was on the ground and the air exploded into a cacophony of shouts, snarls and a high-pitched screaming. Khan was standing over her, the mage's arm in his jaws – she could see the dents in the fabric of his sleeve where the hound's teeth were digging in. The mage's eyes were so wide it was a wonder they did not jump from his head and his skin was a greyish white that looked like he was going to have a heart attack any second. He tried to yank his arm away but the growling became louder and more threatening. The mage's screams grew frantic as Khan's teeth closed tighter on his arm.

"There now Ser Mage," the young man said, sounding like he was trying to suppress a laugh, "it seems you have made a friend."

"Damned Mabari," the mage gasped, struggling to keep still. His effort was not helped by Khan making experimental tugs at the trapped limb. "Who let the stupid beast out?"

"He's mine," Ceri whispered, staring wide-eyed at the scene before her. "And he's not stupid."

"Of course he isn't." The young man crouched so he was at the dog's level. He wasn't even bothering to hide his amusement now. "You're a clever boy aren't you?"

Khan's growling ceased in an instant and he cocked his head to glance at the man. The mage shrieked again as he was jerked to the ground by the sudden movement. Khan's tail began to wag, his entire posture shouting to the world just how smart he thought he was.

"Yes, you are, real clever. But the Revered Mother wants this _gentleman_ in one piece right now, so I think you'd better let him go."

Khan half turned, dragging the whimpering mage with him and raised inquisitive eyebrows at Ceri.

_Do I have to? _the tentative wagging asked. _It's more fun to watch him squeal._

"Let him go Khan," Ceri said, her voice still no more than a whisper. "You've made your point."

The Mabari obeyed, releasing the arm with a rough shake of his head that sent the mage sprawling again. He turned to his mistress and began washing her face, heedless of her squeal of protest. The mage scuttled away without another word.

"Allow me, dear lady," the young man said, offering his hand to her. He helped her to stand as Khan frolicked around them. "I must apologise for that. Duncan told _me_ we were all supposed to try and get along here but I guess not everyone got the same speech."

Ceri managed a small smile at the joke. She looked up at him and discovered that it was a long way up since the top of her head was level with his shoulder. She remembered the character generation screen in the game, how the elves were so much shorter than the human models. A nasty thought popped into her mind and she felt her ear, half expecting to find a point. She sighed in relief: nope, still round, still _human_. She was just a short-arse that was all. She was used to it by now, being teased about her height but to be so short that she could be mistaken for a different species – that was new.

"So what brings you up here?"

"I...uh..." Ceri's voice dried up as she looked at him again.

He was gorgeous, no doubt about it. His eyes were the colour of expensive amber, full of mirth and mischief. His hair was the soft golden brown of a teddy bear's fur, with reddish hints in it where the sunlight twined loving fingers through the strands. His face was all chiselled perfection, high cheekbones and a generous mouth that couldn't stop smiling. Ceri was struck by the idea that if Apollo had looked like this when he chased that nymph... what was her name? Daphne? Yes, Daphne that was it. Maybe she wouldn't have been quite so eager to escape him, leaden arrow or no. She blushed and stared at her feet. What a time for her fascination for mythology to rear its head.

"Duncan said I was to find a Grey Warden called Alistair," she managed, feigning interest in the cracked leather of her boots.

"Oh, what it is now?" he groaned. "Go on then, hit me. I can't wait to find out what dirty job I get next. It was bad enough that the Revered Mother caught me. Honestly the way that woman wields guilt, they should stick her in the army."

He paused and looked her over carefully. Ceri was surprised when he reached out and brushed her hair away from her left ear.

"Hang about," he exclaimed, "you're not an elf are you? You're the new recruit Duncan brought from Highever. What was the name? Caroline? Catherine?"

"Ceridwen," she said, the blush returning full force. "Everyone calls me Ceri."

"Well Ceri, I'm Alistair, the new Grey Warden," he said with a grin. "And you don't want to know what everyone calls me."

He waited for a moment, frowning when she didn't speak.

"So," he began, drawing the word out, "what did Duncan say you were supposed to do when you found me? You have to tell me you know. Mind reading was my worst subject back in the Chantry."

Ceri tried to speak but her throat closed and two fat tears squeezed out from under her eyelids. She cursed under her breath and tried to blink away the tears that were lining up to follow their friends. He was joking, she could tell that. There was an almost sing-song note in his voice, but not like he was mocking her. It was more directed inward, like he was sharing a secret flaw of his own and inviting her to laugh at it with him. She glanced at him to find he was watching her, an expression of panic twisting his face.

"No, no, no, don't cry," he babbled, patting her shoulder awkwardly. "I didn't mean it that way, honestly. Please stop crying."

She sniffed and swiped at the tears with an angry fist. It was stupid to keep crying all the time. Stupid and childish. Plus it just wasn't fair on Alistair, not when he had done nothing more than make a silly joke. She took a deep breath and wiped her face on her sleeve.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's not fair to cry at you. You haven't done anything."

"Yet," he added with a grin, "but the day is still young. Anyway, if you cry then I'll cry and then we'll both be sat up here sobbing away and the whole army will sitting down there laughing at us and saying we're a couple of girls. Which you are. Well one girl," he amended hastily.

"You are very strange," Ceri said, feeling brighter. It seemed that Wynne was right – Alistair's humour was infectious.

"You wouldn't believe how many women have told me that," he laughed. "Still, I wasn't expecting you to be, well, you. Oh that didn't sound lame at all did it?"

"What's wrong with me?" Ceri looked down at herself, tugging at her shirt.

"Well you're a woman for one," Alistair replied with a shrug. "We don't have many women in the Grey Wardens. Or any really, at least not here in Ferelden."

"So you want more women," she asked, her eyes wide and innocent.

"Is there any answer I can give that won't make me sound like a drooling lecher?" he asked the scenery. "Anyway, it's not just that, you know. You're really quite short too."

"Well there's not much I can do about that is there?" Ceri told him. "I'm pretty much done growing now."

"I think I actually know some elves taller than you," Alistair laughed, throwing a friendly arm around her shoulders and leading her back towards the main camp. "How old are you anyway? If you don't mind me asking, that is?"

"I turned seventeen last week," she said, grinning at his surprised expression. "Let me guess, you thought I was older?"

"Actually I was going to ask Duncan if we were so desperate for new Grey Wardens that we were recruiting children now. I would have sworn that you weren't any older than twelve." He laughed as she tried to elbow him in the ribs. "I jest, I jest. It's obvious to anyone with eyes you must be thirteen."

Ceri was shocked to hear herself laugh. Once she'd started the giggles just kept welling up inside her. She doubled over laughing until she couldn't breathe and tears ran down her cheeks. It felt like something had broken loose inside her, like that cold knot of fear and confusion had melted, unable to survive in the face of Alistair's sunny nature. She was still scared, still thought she was insane, but she could think around it now, her mind wasn't paralysed by fear anymore. She looked up at Alistair – he was watching her, eyes crinkling up with amusement at her reaction.

"Duncan said to tell you I need weapons and armour," she giggled, swiping at the tears on her cheeks. "This is so stupid. Why can't I stop laughing?"

"I have that effect on women," Alistair told her with a wink. "Come on then, my lady Ceri. Let's find you some weapons."

* * *

**A/N** - _*sigh* _Alistair is so cute! Isabella was right in her notion of borrowing him for a week every summer, although _personally _I would accidentally on purpose forget to return him at the end of said week.

Ceri is either going to have to keep her hair short enough that her ears are visible or accept that she's going to be mistaken for an elf for the rest of her life.

Thank you to everyone who has read the first two chapters and an extra big thank you to my kind reviewers - your comments and suggestions are greatly appreciated.


	4. Recruits

**Chapter 4 – Recruits**

Ceri wriggled and tugged at the leather armour, trying to get it to sit right. She was glad that the quartermaster had a small tent set up to act as a makeshift changing room. The prospect of stripping down to her underwear in front of the entire camp had not been attractive. The oversized woollen trousers and shirt were gone, replaced by soft leather trousers and a light wool vest that hugged her body like a second skin. She had been relieved to find the leathers gave her the same freedom of movement as her jeans and even the new boots she was wearing were a vast improvement on the ones she had relinquished. They were supple and light, clasping her feet and legs with gentle support that belied the metal plates stitched to them. There were metal plates stitched to her new gloves too and the second and third fingers were reinforced with extra leather.

The quartermaster's assistant, a cheerful elf-woman called Aline, had helped Ceri into the leathers, explaining each component of the armour in turn when it became clear that the girl had no notion of what to do with any of it. She showed her how the shoulder guards attached to the main body of the chest-piece and how the laces held the whole thing together. Ceri had to put the armour on and remove it until Aline was satisfied that she understood how to manage it herself.

"Of course, the best protection of all is not to be there when the blow lands," Aline said with a shrug as she adjusted the ties. "All armour has advantages: leather is light, mail is versatile and plate affords more protection. However they all have flaws as well: mail offers less defence against the long bow and crushing blows, plate can be fatiguing if you don't have the physical endurance to carry it and leather gives less protection than either."

"That's reassuring," Ceri muttered, staring at her hazy reflection in the burnished breastplate hanging on a nearby frame. The armour looked vaguely like a dress thanks to the 'skirt' of straps attached the body of it.

"I'm not saying it won't protect you at all," Aline laughed. "Just that for a little thing like you, your best defence is to be elsewhere. As for keeping it in good condition, it will need oiling to keep the leather supple and you _must_ clean it of blood whenever you get the opportunity."

Ceri fought to keep her face under control as she nodded solemnly. Blood? Up until now she had not even considered the idea that she might get blood on her, whether her own or someone else's. The urge to run and hide in her tent resurfaced and she tugged mechanically at the armour again as she tried to squash the feelings of terror and confusion back down. When she was certain that there was no immediate danger of her bursting into tears, she thanked Aline for her help and left the tent.

She found Alistair still waiting for her. He had been joined by two men who he introduced as Daveth and Ser Jory, both recruited by Duncan to join the Grey Wardens. Daveth, sharp faced and dark haired grinned at her and offered his hand. Ser Jory looked down on her for a moment then snorted with disdain and looked away. Ceri looked both of them over, wondering why the mail clad Jory had looked at her the way Merrill might look at cheap shoes.

"So not only a woman but an elf as well," Daveth said with a chuckle. "Looks like we both lose Ser knight."

Jory grunted without looking round.

"Daveth and Jory were betting on what you'd be," Alistair explained with a wink. "Ceri isn't an elf though, Daveth. She's just short."

"Of what use will she be?" Jory demanded, raking Ceri with that scathing glance once more. "This is a war not a tea party."

"Duncan wouldn't have recruited her unless he felt she was good enough to be a Grey Warden," Alistair told him.

"Good enough at what though? Look at her." He gestured at Ceri's slight form, dwarfed by the three tall men. "She is a child and a child has no place in a war."

"If you don't like it Ser Jory, I suggest you take it up with Duncan," Alistair said, his voice twisting back towards the tone Ceri had heard him use to the mage. He was getting annoyed, she could tell.

They led her over to the racks where the quartermaster kept all the varied weapons. Alistair looked through them and chose a sword.

"Give this one a try," he suggested, offering it to Ceri hilt first.

It felt too big to her hand and Ceri became concerned that she wouldn't be able to keep her grip on it. Her fears were confirmed when Alistair released his hold on it. Unprepared for the weight Ceri staggered and struggled to keep the blade from falling. She twisted against the drag, trying to keep her hold on it and the sword spun from her hand, nearly taking Jory's foot off.

"What a shame," Daveth began to laugh outright. "You missed."

Jory was glaring at her, his pale face flushed with anger.

"You did that on purpose," he accused, pointing a shaking finger at her.

"Come now Ser Jory," Alistair said, sounding like he was trying to suppress a chuckle. "I am _certain _if Ceri had intended to hit you she wouldn't have missed."

Ceri felt the heat rise up in her cheeks as she tried to stammer an apology but Jory would have none of it. He stalked off towards Duncan's tent muttering to himself.

"I'm sorry," she whispered as Alistair retrieved the sword. "I'm useless. It's just so heavy; I can't keep my grip on it."

"Don't be sorry," Daveth told her, "he's been grating on my nerves since I met him. Thinks he's so fine because he's a knight and all. It'd do him good to have some of the starch knocked out of him."

"You're not useless because you couldn't do something perfectly the first time you tried it," Alistair added. "First time I ever picked up a sword, I dropped it on my foot and broke two toes."

Ceri tried to smile but Jory's harsh words had struck too close for comfort. She had no place in a war, not when she wasn't a fighter by nature. Her place in her circle of friends was that of a peacemaker: it was her job to keep Merrill and Kisa from each other's throats, to keep Mateo from kicking off every time someone looked at him the wrong way, to smooth ruffled feathers and sooth wounded feelings. Even if they could find a sword light enough for her to hold and swing without dropping it, Ceri wasn't certain she'd have the nerve to actually hit anything with it. Her fretting was brought to a sudden halt when Daveth spoke again.

"Try these," he suggested, holding out a pair of long knives. They were about eighteen inches from pommel to tip, the hilts bound in soft leather and the curved blades were etched with flowing patterns. "They're Dalish design and lighter than regular knives."

Ceri found he was right. The knives fitted her hands like they were made for her; they were light and more comfortable to hold than the awkward sword. Daveth beckoned her to follow him out into the open area behind the quartermaster's domain. Drawing his own blades he began an impromptu lesson in their use. Ceri watched every movement with wide eyes, absorbing every nuance and trying to copy Daveth's graceful movements. Trying to turn while still following his instructions on how to defend with the blades she got her feet tangled together and collapsed in a graceless heap. She scrambled up again, certain that her face would burst into flames at any second she was blushing so hard. It was to both men's credit that neither of them laughed, although she saw Alistair hiding a smile. She asked Daveth to begin again, following his instructions as best she could. This time she remained upright to the end but only thanks to Daveth and Alistair each grabbing an arm as she fell.

"Well this is awkward," she managed to say as she dangled between them, her feet several inches off the ground and her face burning with embarrassment. "At this rate I'd be slightly more useful as a missile."

Alistair laughed outright at that as they set her down on her feet once more.

"It might be a good plan," he chuckled. "We throw you at the Darkspawn and then you come trotting back like a good girl to be thrown again. It'd certainly confuse them."

Ceri's reply was lost as Jory's acid voice rang out behind them.

"Why bother waiting for her to come back?" He stalked into the practice area, glaring at them all before fixing Ceri with a flat unfriendly stare. "The only thing she is good for is bait."

Ceri's shoulders slumped in defeat. She handed the knives to Daveth and walked away, biting her lip to keep the tears back. What was wrong with the stupid petulant man? Couldn't he see that she was trying her best? She didn't want to be anywhere near swords or fighting but she was trying for God's sake! Trying to learn, trying not to be a burden. Couldn't he see that she was scared out of her wits? Her course brought her back to the quartermaster and the man favoured her with a smile as she approached. Ceri managed a small smile in return but it soon faded. Jory's bitter words were biting deep, eating away at the confidence she had gained from Alistair's easy camaraderie. The repeated conviction that she was useless was nagging at her mind, mostly because it was true.

Ceri frowned, trying to think of something she could set against Jory's cruel words. What was she good at? She began to list off in her head the things she knew she was good at. Keep the peace between Merrill and Kisa, keep Mateo from starting random fights, keep the group running smoothly – those were her daily tasks. That was not going to be much use against Jory though as she'd never encountered such pointed dislike before. She was everyone's sweetheart, the pet of the group and the only reason most of them spent any time in each other's company. Alright, next point. She was smart, had to be to keep getting the grades she did while spending most of her free time out partying with her friends. Ceri devoured books as fast as she could get hold of them, absorbing the information and being able to relay it in a way that anyone might understand. Again, pretty much a non-starter. There were no books here and even if they were, what use would they be? Short of throwing them at these Darkspawn, there was probably not much point in mentioning her love of the written word. She could cook, although she'd never cooked over an open fire before. She could also sew and knit but again those were skills that were hardly going to keep her alive, not out here.

Ceri frowned as she walked between the racks of weapons, desperate to expand on her list of talents, trying not to feel so useless. She could dance and had a fair sense of balance but Daveth's instructions were confusing her. She knew that Alistair had meant well with his comment about not doing something perfectly first time, but Ceri just couldn't accept it. She had always been able to turn her hand to anything she cared to try and it was almost a personal affront to find something she wasn't good at. She pointedly ignored the computer games that had been returned after one or two tries because she couldn't get the hang of the controls, the musical instruments taken up and abandoned just as quickly because she wasn't perfect with them the first time she picked them up.

One weapons rack caught her eye and Ceri stopped before it, staring in wonder at the carved and polished wood. Now that _was _something she was good at.

"You want a bow, little lady?" The quartermaster was standing just behind her. "I thought those boys were being optimistic to give a tiny thing like you a sword."

Ceri nodded, her eyes never leaving the rack of polished temptations.

"Used one before?" he asked.

"I've been having lessons for two years," Ceri replied, reaching out to stroke the nearest bow. "My teacher says I'm getting rather good at it."

"What weight are you using? Twenty eight, thirty pound?"

"Oh no," she exclaimed with a laugh, "that's far too heavy."

"Not this again." The loud cry announced the arrival of her fellow recruits and Alistair. Jory glared at her. "Too heavy," he mocked. "That is all you ever say."

Ceri saw Alistair's hands twitch and had the sudden mental image of them wrapped around Jory's neck.

"Twenty four in a longbow," she told the quartermaster. "I can go up to twenty six in a shortbow for some reason. We've never been able to work out why."

"Try this one," he said, handing her an elegant shortbow. It had beautiful curling designs carved into the pale wood. "Twenty six pound, Antivan whitewood."

Ceri strung the bow easily and accepted the quiver he offered. She nocked an arrow and drew the string back. Taking a deep breath she focussed on the target dummy and then let the arrow fly. Daveth trotted away to examine the target.

"Smack between the eyes," he laughed. "Remind me to stay behind you."

Ceri grinned and waved him back, sending more arrows into the dummy in quick succession. They were closely clustered in the head and around the heart, each placed the same distance from those around it. She had to resist the urge to shout with joy as she walked across to collect the arrows when her quiver was empty. Jory's face was a picture as he stared in open-mouthed astonishment.

"How did you," he began, then caught himself. His mouth snapped shut on the words and the scowl returned.

"It's all in the draw, Ser Jory," she said, trying to keep the triumph out of her voice. "Any more than twenty six pound and I can't hold it long enough to be sure of my aim. I'd be as likely to hit you as anything."

"Any lighter and the Darkspawn will be able to wave at her arrows as they sail over their heads," Daveth added, winking at Ceri.

She risked a glance up at Alistair to find the he was gaping at the dummy. Then his mouth turned up at the corners and he began to laugh.

"Wow! That was just... Wow!" He turned to her, grinning like a little boy. "Do it again!"

Ceri's smile was like the sun bursting through the clouds on a stormy day. She let the arrows fly again, firing so fast the bowstring was singing. Again the arrows clustered tight around the heart area except for the last, which she put in the centre of the head. Her laughter rang off the broken stones of the nearby ruins and she half ran to collect her arrows.

She continued to practice with the bow, enjoying the sense of peace she always achieved during her lessons. It had been her mum's idea for her to learn archery, saying Ceri needed a hobby that got her out from behind her books. Ceri had loved it from the moment she first picked up the bow. She scarcely noticed when the men left, only half acknowledging Alistair's comment that they would fetch her when it was time to eat. Each time she went to collect the arrows she felt another small surge of satisfaction, especially when she remembered the stunned expression that had supplanted Jory's habitual scowl. It was growing dark when Alistair returned, calling for her to join them before all the food was gone. Ceri had followed him, feeling more at ease than she had since she'd woken up in this strange place.

She stowed her bow and quiver away in the tent while the others settled themselves around the fire. She found the shirt and trousers she had left with Aline had been brought back and left folded on her bed-roll. After a moment's thought she wriggled out of the leather armour and replaced it with the wool shirt. Leaving the armour and the gloves with her weapons she emerged, taking the empty space between Alistair and Daveth. She smiled her thanks as the young Warden handed her a steaming bowl before settling down to eat his own food, diving into the bowl as though it was the last meal he'd ever get.

Ceri eyed the contents of her bowl suspiciously. It was full of rough chunks of vegetables and small pieces of meat in dark gravy. She nibbled at a piece of carrot. It didn't really taste of anything much but at least it was hot. After eating a bit more carrot, some potato and something she decided was possibly swede, Ceri grew brave enough to try the meat. It tasted strange, not like lamb or beef, really not like anything she'd ever eaten before.

"What meat is this?" she asked, pushing it round the bowl.

"Rabbit," Duncan replied, not looking up from his own food.

Ceri swallowed, feeling a cold sweat break out across her brow, even as her stomach turned over. She looked down at the bowl, feeling her mouth turning down at the corners once more. Khan was watching her with eager eyes and his tail began to wag when she put the bowl down before him. Still he waited for her signal that he could have it before submerging himself to the eyebrows in the bowl. Alistair edged closer, concern plain on his open face.

"What's wrong?" he whispered. "You've gone green."

"I can't eat this," she replied, swallowing as her stomach rolled again. "I'm sorry, I just _can't_."

"Why not?" Alistair inspected the contents of his own bowl for a moment. "It's not burnt or anything."

"It's _rabbit_. I can't eat rabbit." Ceri tried to push the mental image of soft white fur and trusting pink eyes away. "I've kept rabbits as pets. I can't eat something I've given a name to. It's just one step away from eating cat. Or dog."

"You've got to eat something," Alistair protested. "You haven't had anything all day. We've got some bread somewhere, I think. You can't starve yourself."

"I've lost my appetite," she said, her voice very soft as she stared into the flames. "I'm fine, don't worry about me."

***

An hour later they were still sitting around the fire. Sensing a need to lift the girl's mood Daveth had begun an instructive and often amusing lecture on the art of picking pockets. Duncan was poring over a bundle of papers and Jory sat apart from them, sharpening his great two-handed sword. Alistair stared at a small cloth sitting on the ground between him and Ceri. He'd found the bread and with it a fair sized chunk of cheese, leaving it near the girl even though she had assured him she was no longer hungry. Unfortunately Alistair _was_ still hungry and more than anything he wanted the cheese, but he had offered it to Ceri and he couldn't just take it, could he? Of course he couldn't. However if she went to bed without eating it, why then the cheese would be fair game. So for the time being it sat there, taunting him like the soft yellow temptation that it was. A burst of laughter from Daveth caught his attention and he looked up. Ceri was laughing along with the dark haired man and Jory was scowling at the pair of them. Alistair's eyes went wide as he looked back to his quarry. The cheese was gone.

"Duncan," he exclaimed, turning shocked eyes on his mentor.

"What is it Alistair?" Duncan didn't look up from his task.

"Uh, nothing," he said, not knowing how to phrase his complaint.

"What's wrong?" Ceri asked, edging closer to him.

"The cheese was just there and now it's gone," he told her, uncomfortably aware how childish he sounded.

"Perhaps Lady Ceri's Mabari took it," Daveth suggested pointing to Khan who was snoring by Ceri's feet. The hound twitched one sleepy ear but otherwise didn't move.

"Maybe you pick-pocketed it and now you're blaming my dog to cover up," Ceri murmured.

Alistair's brows snapped together in a frown. There was something strange about her voice, like she was trying to talk with her mouth full. He looked back at her just in time to see her swallow.

"You little thief," he growled. "You took it."

"What?" she exclaimed, her face a picture of innocence.

"You took my cheese."

He lunged at her, fingers seeking her ribs and she gave a choked squeal as he tickled her without mercy. Ceri squirmed out of his grip and darted away, laughing as he chased her round the fire.

"I'm surrounded by infants," Jory snarled, leaping to his feet and storming off to his tent.

"Shouldn't you call them to heel or something?" Daveth asked. "Aren't they damaging our reputation?"

"We're far enough from the rest of the camp that it won't matter. Fortunately." Duncan began to laugh as Ceri dodged Alistair's next lunge, sending the young Warden sprawling. "Alistair needs to blow off some steam and I think Lady Ceridwen could use the distraction. She's had a hard week."

Alistair cornered her by the tents and went to grab her when she held out a half eaten and much battered piece of cheese.

"Let me go and you can have it back," she gasped, breathless from laughter and exertion.

Alistair stepped back, eyes wide and tucked his hands behind his back in a gesture of goodwill. Ceri held out the cheese and he grabbed it. He looked down at the cheese in his hand then looked back up at her. He recalled the rabbit stew, how she hadn't eaten anything all day then broke the cheese in half and put the larger piece back in her hand.

"Friends?" he asked with a grin.

She nodded. It was all she could do. She'd already stuffed the cheese into her mouth and was chewing happily.

"Are you quite finished?" Duncan asked as they returned to the fire.

"I think so," Alistair replied unabashed as Ceri giggled, then stifled a yawn.

"Do I have to sit up?" she asked, large grey eyes hazy with fatigue. Alistair was struck by how childlike she was at that moment.

"Not at all," Duncan assured her with a smile. "You should get all the sleep you can. Alistair will be taking the three of you into the Wilds tomorrow."

"Oh goody," Alistair muttered as Ceri nodded. He watched her ruffle the fur around Khan's ears, just a light touch but enough to rouse the dog. He yawned then followed her into the small tent, tail wagging.

* * *

**A/N** - Ouch, Jory hatred alert! Sorry to anyone who actually liked the guy but having played through Ostergar two dozen times, he is really starting to get on my nerves. It wasn't too great a leap for my imagination that he'd despise Ceri, not with all the whining he does during his brief appearence.

Updates might be slow for the rest of the month - I'm on a 5 week training course a hundred miles from home in a hotel that charges extortionate prices for internet access. Plus the subject matter is all completely new to me so I'm feeling rather overwhelmed and out of my depth. Rather like Ceri really except the food is reasonably good.


	5. The Wilds

**A/N - **Hi Everyone - just a quick note before the next chapter. I'm sorry I haven't posted this sooner - it seems like forever since the last chapter went up. Unfortunately the course I'm on is harder than I anticipated, so between revising for tests and hellish practical assessments, my creativity has hit rock bottom and started to dig. That said, it's finally finished and I hope that you haven't given up on me yet :)

Without further ado - I give you the next installment of Ceri's adventure...

**

* * *

**

Chapter 5 – The Wilds

Alistair was awake well before dawn but even so, when he emerged from his tent it was to find Duncan up before him. It had become more frequent, the young Warden reflected, as he roused Daveth and Jory. Duncan hadn't been sleeping well of late; it seemed that no matter how early Alistair left his bed, he would always find Duncan awake and ready to leave. Instructing the two recruits to fetch breakfast for them all from the mess tent, Alistair turned to the small tent that Ceri was in. He hesitated, then coughed and called her name softly. The last thing he wanted to do was open the tent and find her half dressed. He'd caught a glimpse of her last night as she'd removed the leather breastplate. His ears went red at the thought, remembering how the tight woollen shift had hugged her petit frame – she might be small but her body curved in all the right places.

When no sound came from inside, Alistair steeled himself and pushed the canvas flap aside. The tent was empty, the bedroll folded up with the heavy wool clothing sitting on top. There was no sign of Ceri, her armour or her Mabari. A bark from behind him announced Khan's approach. The Mabari bounded up to him, barked in greeting then dashed back to his mistress' side. Ceri's face was pink with the cold and her fair hair looked damp, fluffing up into curls around her heart-shaped face as it dried. She was wearing the leather armour, her quiver slung over one shoulder and the bow clasped loosely in her hand. She waved her free hand when she spotted him.

"I'm not in there, you know," she called. She looked happier than she had the day before.

"Where have you been?" Alistair asked. "You don't want to miss breakfast. I just sent Daveth and Jory over to the mess tent to fetch it."

"Oh you can have mine," she replied with a grin and an airy wave. "I'm not hungry."

"You must eat, my lady," Duncan told her. "You can't afford to test your strength in this way."

"But I have," she protested. "I've already had breakfast, I promise. Seriously Alistair, whatever they bring for me, you're welcome to it."

"So where did you get breakfast from?" Alistair frowned. "You didn't go into the main camp did you?"

"I've been over in the mages' enclosure visiting Wynne and she fed me. Once she persuaded those big bullies in their tin suits to let me past." Ceri shivered. "They're creepy, you know. Don't they know it's rude to hide your face when you're talking to someone?"

"Templars are meant to be creepy," Alistair told her. "You're not supposed to think of them as people. Their job is to stop the mages getting out of control."

"Huh?" Her face was a picture of blank incomprehension. "What a silly idea. Surely the mages are best placed to do that. It's their magic after all. _Anyway_, once Wynne had sorted them out she gave me breakfast. Did you know the mages get porridge? With fruit?"

"So no objections to eating fruit then?" he teased. "Named or not?"

"I had two bowls," she confided with a self conscious shrug. "I was telling Wynne about the stew last night and she said I could eat with them if I liked. Most of them are vegetarian apparently."

"They're what now?"

"They don't eat meat," she clarified, "and they have proper spices to flavour the food."

"Oh right." Alistair stared off over her shoulder for a moment before continuing. "You look better today, I don't know, more cheerful? What happened?"

"Besides getting a very good breakfast? In addition to good food, the mages have no shortage of hot water and soap. I'm all scrubbed and ready to face the day." She peered up into his face and her eyes twinkled. "You know I'm sure Wynne would let you use the soap and water too if you asked her. She's really nice."

"What are you implying?" he demanded.

"Well I didn't like to say but you've got some dirt on your face," she said, stifling a giggle.

He was prevented from replying by the timely arrival of Daveth and Jory with the food.

***

As the recruits ate Duncan explained the task he had for them: they were to go into the wilds beyond the camp and bring back three vials of Darkspawn blood for something called the Joining. Ceri was glad she'd eaten earlier – the thought of killing something was bad enough but the idea of putting its blood in a bottle to save for later was making her feel rather queasy. She forced herself to pay attention when she realised Duncan was still talking. Apparently there was an old outpost deep in the wilds that had been abandoned years ago. They were supposed to find it and bring back some papers that had been left behind. Ceri wondered if they'd even find anything; it was more likely that any paper had been taken as nesting material by some wild animal or other long ago.

As they prepared to leave Duncan told her that Khan could stay behind in camp. Before she had a chance to reply Khan had fixed the older Warden with an unfriendly stare and pressed himself tight to her side.

_I'm not letting you out of my sight,_ the flattened ears said as he nudged her with his great shoulder. _It's my job to protect you, not theirs'._

Ceri knelt beside him and wrapped her arms round his neck, ignoring the smell as she buried her face in his fur.

"You're a good boy," she told him, "my clever boy. Of course you're coming with us. As if I'd go anywhere without my brave Khan-dog."

_I don't trust the whiny one. _A soft rumble that was not quite a growl escaped him as he glared at Jory. _It isn't Pack._

"Khan doesn't want to stay behind," Ceri told Duncan firmly. "He says it's his job to keep me safe and he doesn't think anyone will do that as well as he could."

"The dog says, does it?" Jory sneered. "She's insane as well as useless."

"The bond between the Mabari and its master is strong and deep," Duncan said, fixing Jory with a stern look that the knight could not meet. "If Ceridwen says that Khan feels he is best placed to protect her then you may take it as the truth, Jory."

"Personally, I'd rather go out there with a Mabari at my back than without," Daveth added.

"I agree," Alistair nodded. "Duncan, surely it will be better to let the dog come with us? I get the feeling he'll only follow on his own if we don't."

"Very well," Duncan said with a small smile. "Watch over your charges Alistair. Return quickly and safely. And may the Maker watch over your path."

***

The so-called Wilds reeked as badly as the army camp, Ceri decided, although the smell of rotting vegetation and stagnant water was marginally better than that of thousands of men and dogs packed in together. She sniffed, hoping that her nose would soon become desensitised. It wasn't the worst thing she'd ever smelled, not by a long shot. It didn't even come close to the stink of sun warmed sea-weed at low tide. She was surprised by how much noise there was: the air was thick with the soft buzzing hum of unseen insects singing in perfect harmony with an immense chorus of softly croaking frogs.

Alistair had taken the lead and with Jory bringing up the rear, Ceri was left to walk with Daveth and Khan. The Mabari walked close at her side, his shoulder tight against her hip as they picked their way through the mist shrouded trees. From what she could see the landscape was a series of lakes divided by boggy ground and low hillocks. There were the remnants of towers and walls scattered about, some deep in green tinged water, suggesting that once the whole area had been far drier than it was now. Ceri cursed softly as she stepped in yet another puddle. She looked around with a scowl, trying to find a dry place to stand, cursing again as she watched the men easily navigate the path.

"Having trouble?" Daveth asked, grinning as she missed the next pool of water with a half step and a skip.

"I've got an affinity for water," she replied. "I can always find it. Usually because I've just trodden in it. It must've been raining the day I was born."

Daveth chuckled, catching at her arm to steady her as she dodged the next puddle and almost landed in a third. As they walked on he resumed his interrupted lecture from the night before, explaining the different methods of picking pockets and the basic premise behind lock-picking.

They had been walking for an hour when Ceri felt a shiver of disquiet run through her. She touched Daveth's arm and the thief fell silent, looking down at her with an unspoken question in his eyes. It was then she realised that Alistair had also halted and seemed to be concentrating on something. Ceri frowned, she couldn't hear anything but Alistair's brow was creased like he was listening to a sound just on the edge of hearing. Then she realised that she couldn't hear _anything_, even the frogs had fallen silent. A whisper of a breeze ghosted across her face and Ceri gagged as a sour, acrid scent burned her nose.

"What on earth is that?" she demanded. Her voice was muffled by her hand covering her nose and mouth in an attempt to block the smell out. "It's vile."

"I can't smell anything," Jory sneered.

"Well _I_ can," Ceri retorted, turning to Alistair. "It's not right, not _natural._ This whole place stinks of rotting plants and standing water but those belong here. This is, I don't know, wrong somehow, like ammonia. It's just _nasty_."

She winced – the speech had sounded childish even to her own ears. She was afraid Alistair wouldn't believe her; that he would think she was imagining things as Jory so obviously did. Something was wrong, she could feel it in the cold prickling that was raising the hairs on the back of her neck and setting her nerves to thrumming but she couldn't put her finger on what was causing it. Unfortunately it also meant that she was starting to talk in half sentences that probably didn't make much sense, as she often did when nervous. Merrill and Kisa were used to it and could translate her nonsense but how could she expect these strangers to give her words any credence?

"There are Darkspawn just ahead," Alistair said quietly. He laid a hand on Ceri's shoulder. "I'm impressed you picked it up."

Just then the wind shifted and the evil smell washed over them so strongly that even Jory gagged and turned white. Peering through the swirling mist pockets Ceri made out eight figures a hundred yards away, ranged about the foot of the next hill. Some were tall, others short, all vaguely man-shaped but all with an air of wrongness about them.

"I see eight of them," Ceri said, keeping her voice down. The last thing she wanted was attract their attention. She looked to Alistair for approval. "Is that right?"

"Nine actually," he replied. "But number nine's just over the crest of the hill, so I'll let you off that one."

"If it's behind the hill, how do you know it's there?" Ceri asked, not unreasonably.

"That's why Duncan sent me with you," Alistair explained. "All Grey Wardens can sense Darkspawn, you see. I'm supposed to make sure you don't stumble into the middle of them and get yourselves killed before the Joining. However, with that said I'm not here to make things easy for you – it's your decision what to do next."

Ceri peered at the distant shapes again, wracking her brains for some idea of what to suggest. It was obvious she would get no help from Alistair, even if he was inclined to assist her. She had the feeling that he might be persuaded to hint if her decision was right or not but that he would probably go no further. This was the part of classes that Ceri hated the most: being put on the spot in front of everyone. To be called on for an answer and not even being sure of the question. At least in the classroom the worst that would happen was everyone laughing at her. Out here the wrong answer would get her killed. Worse, it might get the others killed as well.

"How clever are they? If I shoot one of the ones at the back, would the others turn around to look?" Her eyes were wide and guileless, her face a picture of innocence. It was an expression that had won assistance from the most hard hearted of tutors. "Would it distract them for long enough?"

"Long enough for what?" Alistair prompted.

Ceri suppressed a grin: he'd fallen for it. Alistair probably didn't even realise he'd inadvertently confirmed that her idea had possibilities.

"Long enough for you big tough lads to go running down there and whack them 'til they stop moving." She ignored the implication of her words as she planted her fists on her hips in a fair imitation of her mother at her sternest. "Or did you want me to go do that too?"

"I think we could probably manage a bit of whacking," Daveth grinned. He turned to Jory. "Don't you think so Ser Knight?"

Jory grunted but didn't disagree.

Ceri swallowed against the lump in her throat as the three men slipped away from her, moving through the covering undergrowth towards the indistinct shapes ahead. Khan crouched at her side, neither quite sitting nor standing, but ready to defend his mistress from whatever might come their way. Ceri fitted an arrow to the bow and took her aim, stamping down on the nagging thought that she was going to do something her teacher had made her swear she never would: fire at a living creature.

_It's just another target,_ she thought as she watched the men take up their positions as close to the Darkspawn as they could without being spotted. She repeated the words over and over, hoping that if she said them enough she'd start to believe it. _It's just another target, another practise dummy._

She saw Alistair look back at her and nod before turning back towards the Darkspawn. They were waiting for her. They wouldn't move until she set their plan in motion.

_It's too late for second thoughts,_ that irritating voice in her mind said. _You're committed now. There's no backing out._

She drew in a deep breath, eyes narrowing as she focussed on her target. Her shoulders relaxed and the air left her lungs in a gentle, soundless sigh. She loosed the arrow. Seconds later the hindmost shape jerked backwards and fell, sprawling in a graceless heap. As she'd anticipated the others turned away from her companions, distracted by the inexplicable death behind them. She heard the men shout battle cries, watched them charge forward, saw their blades cutting through the monsters as though they were made of paper. Ceri fired more arrows, distracting or wounding any Darkspawn that tried to flank the men. She didn't know how she managed it; the flow of the battle was so fast it was a miracle that every arrow found its intended target.

The wind changed direction and another gust of the acrid stench washed over Ceri. She saw Alistair spin on his heel and charge back towards her. She heard his cry but he was too far off for her to make out the words. Khan's rumbling growl filled the air and he dashed past her, lunging at something behind her. Ceri whirled round, a surge of adrenaline hitting her like a kick to the stomach. She slipped on the wet ground and saw her own terrified reflection in the rust pitted blade of the axe that skimmed past her face. The breath was knocked from her as she hit the ground hard but she retained enough presence of mind to roll to the side, away from the descending blade. A thunderous roar filled her head, her ears ringing with it and then the creature was on the ground, Khan's sharp teeth tearing at its head and throat.

Ceri could feel hot fluid splattered across her face and arms as she lay there staring at the bloodied spectacle of the Mabari standing over the prone corpse. Khan was growling deep in his throat, the sound harsh and vicious, like he was swearing under his breath. Ceri pushed herself to her knees, and forced herself to look long and hard at the thing Khan had killed in her defence. It was man sized and man shaped but that was where the resemblance ended. The wrinkled skin was a leprous white where it wasn't drenched in crimson blood, the mouth a gaping lipless slash packed with needle-sharp teeth. It was, simply put, a monster – a hideous mockery of a man, dressed in patched and battered armour.

Dimly she could hear voices from behind her but she couldn't pick out the words over the roaring that filled her ears. She looked down at her hands, staring at them in wonder as they began to tremble like leaves in a gale. She was still holding the bow despite this and she tightened her grip on the smooth wood in an attempt to quell the shaking. Large hands gripped her arms and she was hauled to her feet without ceremony. Worried amber eyes examined her with minute care.

"Are you hurt?" Alistair demanded.

Ceri shook her head, amazed despite herself. She wasn't hurt, scared out of her wits perhaps but somehow, by some miracle, she wasn't injured. She managed a tight smile for him, not trusting herself to speak. She could feel the beginnings of hysteria welling up in her throat, the harsh prick of tears stabbing at the backs of her eyes. She swallowed and shook her head again, trying to clear it.

"I said we'd be better off with a Mabari at our backs," Daveth said in a conversational tone as he strolled back towards them. "No need to fear for Lady Ceri's safety, not with him around."

"That was a very impressive move," Alistair told her. He seemed to recognise how close she was to flying apart, despite her efforts to regain her composure. A sly smile crept over his handsome face. "Please tell me you tripped over your own feet again. Otherwise I'll feel all useless that you don't need me and then I'll cry. You don't want to see that, really. It's not a pretty sight."

Ceri's eyes darted to his, seeing the warm humour that lurked there. Her smile grew a shade wider, her breathing steadied and her hands stopped shaking. Her lips parted, a reply poised on the tip of her tongue when a sharp voice rang out from behind her.

"If you are finished pampering the wench perhaps we can proceed?" Jory snarled.

Ceri's eyes narrowed as she looked over to where the knight was glaring down at them. She nocked an arrow to her bowstring and drew it back to her ear.

"Just another target," she growled as she let the arrow fly.

Jory's eyes went wide and he let out a shriek of fright as the arrows flights caressed his cheek. He stumbled back, hitting the Darkspawn that had hauled itself to its feet and crept up behind him. Spinning round, the knight gave a second whimpering cry as he leaped away from the beast. It fell, Ceri's arrow buried to the fletching in the centre of its forehead.

Ten minutes later Daveth was still laughing.

"I don't know which was funnier," he chuckled, clapping Ceri on the shoulder as they walked on, "the look on his face when your arrow kissed him or the look on his face when he realised what you were aiming at."

Ceri's efforts to keep a straight face weren't helped in the slightest by Alistair's snort of amusement. Jory, walking behind them in a huff of wounded dignity, said nothing.

Their mirth faded quickly when they stumbled across the lone survivor of a patrol overrun by the Darkspawn. Ceri had helped Alistair bandage the man's wounds, trying not to think about the blood staining her hands as she did so. He had gulped down the contents of a small bottle that Daveth offered him, his face losing some of its greyish pallor. Pulling himself to his feet, he set off back along the path they had been following, heading back to the camp to make his report. When he was out of sight Jory rounded on Alistair.

"Did you hear that?" he demanded, voice shrill. "An entire patrol of seasoned men killed by the Darkspawn?"

Ceri felt a hysterical giggle rise in her throat and she bit down on it, swallowed it back before it could escape. She couldn't shake the mental image of soldiers dusted with salt and pepper. That was wrong; it wasn't respectful. Those men were dead, slaughtered by Darkspawn. Why was she being so silly? She realised that her hands were moving without her even thinking about it, mechanically rubbing over each other, trying to wipe the bloodstains away.

_Hold on,_ the voice in her mind advised, _just hold on. You can't break down yet, there's too much danger around. Keep it together until you get back to camp._

"Calm down, Ser Jory," Alistair replied, "we'll be fine if we're careful."

"Those soldiers were careful and they were still overwhelmed." Jory cast a withering look at Ceri, glaring at her still moving hands. "Worse, they didn't have her with them. How much use do you think she'll be really? One lucky shot doesn't make her a warrior."

"Do you think I want to be here?" Ceri's voice was tight with restrained emotion and far louder than she'd intended. "Do you think I like being so scared? Do you _really_ think I want to be dragged full length through this stinking swamp? I'm cold and wet. There's dirt in my hair and blood on my hands. I would love nothing more than to leave all this fighting and dying to you brave men, believe me."

Alistair started to speak but Ceri rushed on, all her fear and horror tumbling out in a stream of angry, anguished spite.

"You think you've got it so bad, _Ser_ Jory? Try imagining how I feel for a moment. Ever since I met you, you've done nothing but _bitch_ at me when all I've done is try to help and not be a burden. Next time a Darkspawn creeps up on you I'm going to let it rip your head off. Maybe then you'll feel sorry for calling me useless."

She turned her back on them, shoulders hunched in misery as she tried to pull herself back under control. Jory turned red but didn't say anything as Ceri sniffed and rubbed at her face.

"Right. Now we've got that out in the open, maybe we should return to the task at hand," Alistair said. As they moved off he fell into step beside Ceri, who was walking ahead of the others with an expression of grim determination on her pale face. "Don't pay any attention to old Ser Sourpuss. He's just jealous that your dress is prettier than his."

Ceri's mouth twitched, the edges of a smile tugging at her lips. The tension left her body as she allowed his humour to infect her. She tried not to think of how his sword had cut bloody swathes through the Darkspawn or the cold detachment that replaced his usual smiling expression as he moved with the grace of a hunting cat. He was a fighter, he had to be able to distance himself from the horror of killing. If he couldn't, well then he'd either go mad or he'd have to be a complete psycho who enjoyed it. The smile grew as she pursued that particular thought. Alistair. Laughing, joking, silly Alistair a psycho? Now that was truly ridiculous.

***

Ceri knelt beside the Darkspawn she had shot, ostensibly to pull free her arrows. In fact she was just about ready to drop from exhaustion and wasn't going to give Jory any excuse to start whinging again. The last few hours had been blissfully quiet, with the knight too embarrassed or annoyed by Ceri's earlier outburst to deign to speak to her again. When the ruins of the old Grey Warden outpost came into view through the trees and the mist she felt her heart leap with relief. At last, a chance to stop and rest. Her joy was short-lived when she recognised the now familiar shapes lurking around the tumbled stones and columns. Her shoulders drooped and she winced at the sharp twinge pricking the muscles of her back as she fitted an arrow to the string.

"More Darkspawn," she said, her voice dull and listless. She was so tired, exhausted in mind as well as in body. She'd gone past the point of tears two, or was it three hours ago? She just wanted to sit down and rest, to work out the kinks and twinges that seemed to be permanently embedded in her muscles through over-exertion in the cold and damp.

"Here we go again," Daveth said, rolling his head to loosen the muscles in his neck as he drew his blades.

Alistair shifted his shield, settling it on his arm and glanced down at Ceri. Although the detached expression on his face showed he was mentally prepared for battle, his eyes were still warm with concern.

"Ready?" he asked softly. He didn't move until Ceri nodded, until he was certain she was prepared.

That warmed her a little, the thought that he was concerned for her, even if it was only so he didn't have to explain to Duncan just how she managed to get herself killed. Even Jory was watching her with grudging respect now. Finally he seemed to be accepting that her skill with the bow wasn't mere fluke.

"Let's do this," she sighed.

The battle was short, bloody and predictable. At least it was until one Darkspawn refused to go down. It was bigger than the rest, malformed head disguised by a gruesome helmet fashioned to look like a skull. It shoulder charged Jory, knocking the knight to the ground in a wheezing heap, then rounded on Ceri. She put four arrows into it, all clustered tight in its chest but even that didn't slow its advance. Her next arrow shattered on the helmet, the eye slit too narrow for it to pass through. Ceri's eyes widened as its massive shadow fell across her. She felt a chill run through her, Khan was too far away to help her and she knew he'd never reach her in time. Clutching her bow tight she tried to anticipate the blow she was certain she would never be able to avoid. A shout erupted in her ears and the huge figure was knocked backwards away from her. She stared bemused at Alistair's back as he struck at the Darkspawn again with his shield, throwing it off balance. It tried to recover, swung at Alistair but the young Warden caught the blade and turned it away with a dreadful shriek of metal on metal as it scraped across the embossed shield. Alistair's sword flashed and the helmet flew away in a spatter of blood. The body crashed to the ground and Ceri saw the bloodied stump of what had been the neck. She looked over to the helmet lying face down in the mud and shuddered. Daveth was pulling Jory to his feet; the knight's breathing was hoarse and painful but he nodded in response to some question from the other man. Ceri figured Daveth must have asked if he was alright. She busied herself collecting her arrows, discarding one that was badly damaged and returning the rest to her quiver. Alistair joined her, handing over the arrows he'd pulled from the headless corpse.

"Jory's right you know," Ceri said wearily. "I am useless. Every time one of those things gets close to me I freeze up. I'd be dead right now if you hadn't been there."

"I'm sorry but where is it written that you have to be able to do everything?" Alistair's eyebrows looked like they were trying to burrow up under his hair they were so high. "That is what being part of a group is all about. You're an archer – no one expects you to take the Darkspawn on at close range."

Ceri's eyebrows shot up at this and she couldn't keep her eyes from flicking to the still wheezing knight. Alistair followed her gaze and chuckled.

"Alright, no one but _him_. Anyway, it's our job to make sure you're protected, to keep them away from you. That allows you to stop them from sneaking up on us, to help us control the fight." He cocked his head at the frown tugging at her lips. "Now do be a good girl and stop worrying so much. We're all still alive and have everything still attached that should be. There'll be plenty of time to worry later when things start going wrong."

She might have taken offence at the superior tone except she could see the humour returning to his eyes. Even the tone wasn't as bad as it pretended to be; she could hear the laughter hiding underneath. She stuck her tongue out at him and he began to laugh outright as she swiped at his arm and called him an idiot. They'd scooped up Daveth and Jory and headed into the ruins, hoping to recover the papers and get out of the Wilds before nightfall.

They'd searched through the rubble, eventually unearthing the battered and cracked chest hidden away in the corner of what once would have been a small room. Ceri's earlier hypothesis was proved correct when Alistair shoved the lid open to reveal nothing more than dirt and cobwebs. His shoulders slumped in defeat and she realised that he had honestly believed that even after all this time somehow the old papers would still be there. She was about to speak, to try and find some words to comfort him when a sharp voice rang out from the shadows.

"What have we here? Are you an intruder, come into these wilds of mine? Or are you a vulture, picking over bones long since turned to dust?"

Ceri turned to see a slender figure emerge from behind one of the few walls still standing higher than a few feet. The clothes, tight leather trousers with a sort of wrap skirt over them and a top that seemed to be a mixture of rags and feathers, left them in no doubt that the newcomer was female. She pushed back the deep purple hood that covered her head, revealing a thin pale face dominated by large golden eyes. Her hair, a deep glossy brown so dark it was nearly black was pinned up and away from her face, showed no sign of being disturbed by the hood. Ceri ignored Alistair's comment about the woman being chasind, mainly because she didn't know what he meant by it. She saw the eerie gold eyes flicker from the men's surly faces to her own, watched a small wicked smile curve the full lips upward.

"You there. Women do not scare like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine."

Her voice was both light and rich but held a mocking note like she was looking on the whole world with distain. Still that was no worse than Merrill in one of her snits, when she treated everyone like something she'd scraped off the bottom of one of her expensive shoes. She smiled at the woman.

"My name is Ceridwen, but you can call me Ceri if you like." She took a step forward and held out her hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Now that is a proper civil greeting, even here in the Wilds." The woman seemed taken aback by Ceri's frank words and she ignored the outstretched hand. Her voice softened as she continued. "You may call me Morrigan."

"Morrigan. I like that, it suits you." Ceri's smile widened at the puzzled expression that flitted across the woman's face.

"'Tis beyond me why you would think so."

"Well, where I come from Morrigan is the name of a battle goddess who took the form of a raven or crow," Ceri shrugged. "It's the feathers and whatnot. Anyway, I wasn't trying to be insulting. I really do think your name suits you. So many people's don't you see."

Morrigan stared at her, as though unable to believe her ears.

"Do you think you could help us?" Ceri continued. "There's supposed to be some old papers here, but the chest they're meant to be in is all broken up and empty."

"The protections wore off that chest long ago," Morrigan told her, regaining some of her poise. "The papers were removed for safekeeping."

"You took them didn't you?" Alistair accused. "You're some kind of sneaky witch-thief."

_Ooh, way to go Alistair,_ Ceri thought to herself, suppressing a snigger. _You totally told her._

"How eloquent," Morrigan sneered, echoing Ceri's train of thought. "How does one steal from dead men?"

"Quite easily it seems." Alistair's voice grew stronger, more commanding, losing the boyish edge as he glared at the mocking figure. "Those documents are Grey Warden property and I suggest you return them at once."

"I will not for 'twas not I who removed them." There it was again, that look of distain at finding something disgusting underfoot.

"Do you know who did?" Ceri asked quickly. She could feel the temperature plummeting as Morrigan's eyes narrowed.

"'Twas my mother in fact."

"That's great!" Ceri's smile returned. "Would she give them to us do you think? Could you take us to her?"

"Now that is a sensible request. I like you." This time Morrigan's smile was genuine, if short lived. "Follow me, if you choose."

"Watch it," Alistair advised. "One minute it's 'I like you' the next, _zap!_ Frog time."

"Yeah well, it can't be so bad," Ceri said over her shoulder as she hurried to join Morrigan, falling easily into step with the taller woman. "Jory seems to be doing ok on it."

The knight spluttered incoherently but followed the other men as they set out in Morrigan's wake.

* * *

**A/N - **I know a lot of people don't like Morrigan but she's one of my favourite characters. I love her snarky attitude, especially when she starts a slanging match with Alistair (one of the main reasons I keep them both in my party). I can finish the game with maximum approval from both Morrigan and Alistair, despite them being polar opposites, and I know some people would say that I was sucking up to Morrigan to get her to like me. The thing is, I might not agree with her attitude but to my mind, friendship means accepting people for who they are even if they have opinions that don't necessarily agree with your own. _That's _what makes life interesting.

The next chapter will be about the Joining and the Tower of Ishal - after that it should start moving along a bit quicker. I know I seem to be lingering over the beginning of the game but I'm trying to establish Ceri's character and motivation. Once that's in place I'll be able to get onto the good stuff - unfortunately what started as a fairly easygoing story is turning out to be more involved than I'd anticipated.

**Update 2/4/10 - **Thank you to everyone who has kindly reviewed so far (and to everyone still reading). Unfortunately I rushed the end of the chapter as I was concerned it was getting too long and I wanted to post it before I went back to the dreaded hotel with no internet. As Eternal Icefire pointed out however, the last bit of the chapter didn't really sit too well with the beginning, so I've re-written it and hopefully rounded it off better. Basically the whole thing is the same except for the two extra pages I've added between Ceri musing on whether Alistair could ever be a psycho and Morrigan turning up.

I've taken a couple of liberties with the game - I couldn't remember exactly what Morrigan says when she first appears but I tried to get the gist of it. Also I know at this point Alistair has a wooden shield in the game but in my humble opinion that's just daft: he doesn't have a wooden sword so why would he have a wooden shield? Especially when he's facing enemies that can throw fireballs. So a metal shield for Alistair it is :)


	6. The Joining

**Chapter 6 – The Joining**

Ceri was stumbling with fatigue by the time the camp came into view. Morrigan had faded back into the shadows as soon as they reached the edge of the trees, ending her unwilling duty as guide. One good thing had come of her assistance: they had retraced their path through the wilds without seeing so much as a Darkspawn shadow. Too tired to think, Ceri just focussed on putting one foot in front of the other, her eyes fixed on Alistair's armoured back as he led them towards safety and with any luck the chance to sit down and rest. Her dogged determination to keep up despite being ready to drop had won her grudging approval from Morrigan, who had volunteered some information about the ruins as they walked.

The soft rattling from her quiver reminded Ceri of the precious scrolls she carried, entrusted to her by Alistair after he'd wrapped them in a piece of cloth to protect them from the arrows. He told her it was the safest place; by using her quiver the four of them still had their hands free to deal with any trouble that might arise. The thought of trouble drew Ceri's tired musings back to their meeting with Morrigan's mother. It was small wonder that Morrigan was surly and rude, not with the example provided by the older woman. Although she had parted with the scrolls willingly when Ceri asked for them, the woman had observed the group with scorn in her hooded eyes. Everything she said seemed measured, as though she considered each word with minute care before deigning to impart it. The whole encounter had left Ceri feeling like there was something going on behind those dark eyes that sparkled with deadly amusement, like the woman was toying with them for her own purpose. Her insistence that Morrigan escort them back out of the wilds had only served to reinforce this impression and worsen her already irritated daughter's mood.

She was jerked from her hazy state by a large hand shaking her shoulder. Looking round in surprise she realised they were back in the camp, standing before Duncan who was watching her with concern.

"Sorry," she muttered, pulling the quiver off her back and fumbling for the scrolls, "I was miles away."

She handed them to the elder Warden who nodded in approval as he checked them for damage. He glanced up at the recruits, his eyes straying back to Ceri as she struggled to stay on her feet.

"You have done well," he said with a smile, "and have returned far sooner than I had expected. It is our custom that the Joining take place at midnight. You are free to spend the intervening hours as you wish."

Ceri rubbed her face, trying to pull herself together enough to think clearly. It was hopeless; her eyelids felt like they were weighted with lead and her brain seemed to be packed with cotton wool. As Duncan disappeared into his tent and Daveth drew Jory away toward the main camp with the suggestion of finding something to eat, Alistair looked down at her like he was just realising how tired she was.

"Why don't you get some sleep?" he suggested. When she didn't answer straight away he tugged on her arm to get her moving, leading her toward her own small tent. "It's about three hours to midnight, more or less. That's time for a quick nap at least."

Ceri nodded absently as she ducked beneath the canvas tent-flap. She laid out the bedroll making sure to leave room for Khan before pulling off her gloves and boots. As she set to work on the laces of her armour Alistair spoke again from outside.

"Let me have your armour and I'll get it cleaned for you. It won't do it any good to sit around with blood on it."

When she'd pulled on the heavy shirt, she pushed the flap aside to hand the armour out. Alistair grinned at her sleepy expression.

"You look like a tousled dormouse," he told her. "Don't worry about oversleeping. I'll call you when it's time for the Joining."

Ceri crawled into the bedroll, shifting slightly as Khan lay down against her back. She was asleep within seconds.

xxx

Alistair had finished his careful inspection of Ceri's armour when Duncan joined him at the fire.

"What is your opinion of the recruits?" Duncan's expression was unreadable as he watched the younger man set the gloves aside.

"Jory is a strong fighter but he spooks easily," Alistair began cautiously. "Daveth shows promise; he's quick and smart enough to keep out of trouble."

"And the lady?" Duncan prompted. "What of her?"

"She needs training in close combat but she's the best archer I've ever seen." Alistair's eyes were shining as he warmed to the topic. "She took down a Hurlock standing right behind Jory with an arrow to the head. The fletching kissed Jory's cheek but it was obvious that she'd done it intentionally to scare him."

"Why?"

"He was insulting her again," Alistair admitted. "To be fair Duncan, he had it coming and he was lucky that was all she did. I wouldn't have blamed her if she'd actually shot him."

"Let us hope he profits from the lesson," Duncan laughed. "It won't foster good feeling if we have Wardens shooting each other over every insult. What else can you tell me about her?"

"She's smart and tough. She wasn't happy out there but she played her part in the fighting without complaint." Alistair nodded to himself as he thought back over the day. "I think she's got the makings of a good strategist too, but I could be wrong."

"Not from what I have seen," Duncan told him, "nor from what her father told me. She is like a Mabari, he said, fierce and loyal. She is intelligent, persuasive and has the most peculiar way of looking at things that lets her see solutions that others would never even consider. I believe he regretted those words when I mentioned recruiting her."

"It doesn't seem fair though," Alistair said with a frown. "She's such an innocent, hardly more than a child. Are we right to make her go through the Joining?"

"There is no alternative." Duncan sighed. "Alistair, you know we need every Grey Warden we can muster, now more than ever. Ceridwen may not be experienced at fighting but her studies have been extensive and she has a strong grasp of leadership and strategy. Not only that, her entire family was murdered less than a week ago. By becoming a Grey Warden she will have the protection of the entire Order should the perpetrator think to make a second attempt on her life."

"Do you know who," Alistair began but Duncan cut him off.

"It does not matter now. What matters is getting these recruits through the Joining."

xxx

"Come on, dormouse, rise and shine."

Alistair's cheerful voice dragged Ceri from a twisted dream where Morrigan watched with mocking eyes while her mother asked ever more nonsensical questions, laughing as Ceri stumbled over the answers. She sat up, rubbing at her gritty eyes and wincing as the muscles in her back and arms protested. Khan stirred, peering up at her with an interrogative whine.

"Go back to sleep," she whispered, scratching his ears. "I'll be back soon."

She saw her armour stacked by the head of her bedroll, now spotless and looking in better condition than it had when she'd got it the day before. Next to it was a bowl of steaming water, two pieces of cloth and a sliver of soap.

"Are you awake yet?" Alistair asked.

Ceri grabbed the cloth and began to scrub at the dried blood on her arms. The soap was rough, grey and pungent, unlike the stuff the mages had access to. It stung her skin as she worked but she ignored the discomfort in favour of being clean.

"I'm awake," she called as she rinsed the cloth out and wiped her face quickly. "Did you bring the water and stuff?"

"After what you said this morning, I thought you'd like to clean up," he replied, "that's why I woke you early. You've got some time before we have to go."

When she'd made the best job of cleaning herself up as she could, Ceri struggled back into her armour. She emerged from the tent to find Alistair waiting by the fire, his back to her. She raked her fingers through her hair trying to get it into some semblance of order, before tugging on his sleeve.

"I'm all set," she said, smiling as he turned round. "Thank you, by the way."

"You're welcome," he replied as they set off through the camp. "We Grey Wardens have to look out for each other, right?"

Daveth joined them as they passed the mages' encampment, taking up his former position at Ceri's side as she followed Alistair. They followed the path up into the ruins to the north of the camp, where Ceri had first met Alistair. Ahead she could see Duncan and Jory waiting for them, standing by a large block of stone that Ceri realised must once have been an altar before time and decay took their toll. Resting on its pitted surface was a large silver goblet. The full moon was overhead, bathing the scene in chill light. Ceri tried to block out Jory's voice as he began to complain about being tested once again. She walked to the edge of the ruin, the shattered columns suggesting where windows had once stood overlooked the camp. She could see the two great pavilions and the soldiers patrolling outside them. Focussing on the flickering of the distant fires Ceri breathed in the chill night air, thick with the scent of smoke. Suddenly Jory's voice broke through her contemplation as he snapped in response to Daveth's baiting.

"For goodness sake, would you both just give it a rest for five minutes?" Ceri walked back over to the bickering men, shaking her head. "You're really not helping."

Daveth grinned at her and gave a contrite shrug but Jory scowled.

"I do not relish things I cannot face with my blade," he muttered, kicking at the stones at his feet.

"It's his poor wife I feel sorry for," Ceri whispered to Daveth. "She must have had a spectacular honeymoon."

Their mirth was cut short as Duncan called them to order. He nodded to Alistair, who stepped forward and bowed his head.

"Join us, Brothers and Sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, we shall join you."

Ceri felt a shivering thrill run through her. There was a dark undertone to those words, an undercurrent pulling at her mind as she tried to take in the meaning behind them. Alistair looked up at Duncan as the older man lifted the cup and turned to the recruits.

"Step forward Daveth." Duncan's voice was both gentle and commanding.

The thief obeyed, taking the cup from Duncan. Glancing over his shoulder he gave Ceri a cocky grin as he lifted the cup to his lips. She tried to return it but her face felt frozen, stiff and unresponsive. The air was crackling with tension now, raising goose bumps on her arms and cold sweat trickle down her back. Daveth drank from the cup and handed it back to Duncan. He turned, pulling a face at the taste of whatever he'd just swallowed. Ceri watched him straighten up, the stiff set of his shoulders relaxing.

"Piece of cake," he grinned.

Then his dark eyes went wide and his grin faded as he struggled to breath. His throat worked and his mouth gaped. Then his eyes rolled up in his head until only the whites were showing and he dropped to his knees. Ceri could feel the scream building in her throat as Daveth collapsed black-faced and twitching onto the hard stones. She clenched her jaw tight, fighting to keep the impending hysterics under control as she stared at the body.

_Not 'the body',_ she screamed inside her head, _Daveth. He can't be dead, it can't be real. It's a joke, he's just mucking about, trying to scare us._

She stared hard at Daveth's face, at the dark tint in his skin, the white where his eyes should be and the trickle of black liquid running from his open mouth, waiting for him to jump up and laugh at her for being taken in. It was a joke, it had to be.

_Should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten_

Alistair's words echoed up from the cold recesses of her memory. They had known that this Joining might be fatal, that the recruits might not survive and they hadn't said anything. Ceri's head jerked up at the sound of ringing metal; Jory was swinging his great two-handed sword at Duncan. The Warden parried the blow with ease, flicking Jory's sword aside as though it was a blade of grass. The sound of Duncan's sword crunching through the knight's chainmail hurt Ceri's ears and she threw up her hands to block it out. A roaring, whistling scream filled her head as Jory's eyes went wide and his pale face turned grey. He slumped against Duncan, who caught him and lowered his body to the ground. It had all happened so quickly, in jolting disjointed images, like a film with half the frames missing. Daveth dead. Jory dead. What next?

_It's all wrong,_ Ceri's inner voice wailed. _They can't be dead. People don't just die, not like this._

It couldn't be real. She'd had breakfast with them that morning, laughed and joked with Daveth. He'd promised to teach her to pick locks and pockets; he'd given her a little piece of bent metal he'd said was a real lock-pick and told her he'd show her how to use it properly the first chance they got, even if it meant sneaking into the mage's enclosure and raiding their supplies. Jory was a pain but that was mostly because he was scared and afraid that everyone would find out. That was no reason to die. Her eyes fixed on the knight's limp body. There hadn't been much blood when Duncan stabbed him. Wasn't there supposed to be lots of blood when you got stabbed? That's what happened in all the horror movies she'd seen: someone got stabbed and gallons of blood went everywhere.

It was the sensation of cold, hard stone under her hands that brought her out of her stunned reverie, made her realise that her legs had given way. She was sitting on the ground, far closer to Jory's body than she liked. She could see the blood now, draining out of the knight's body from the ragged hole in his chainmail, pooling around him and sinking into the cracks between the flagstones. A thin rivulet of blood wound its lazy way past her, the moonlight glinting on its surface making it look as black as Darkspawn blood. Ceri stared at the ground, struggling to make her mind obey.

Duncan was speaking again but she couldn't hear the words over the insistent screaming in her head. The cup came into view and she gripped it without thinking, grateful for something solid in a world that suddenly seemed to be built on shifting sand. She stared into the cup, watching the moon's reflection shiver and shatter on the black viscous surface as her hands trembled. It occurred to her that she didn't even know what the liquid was, except that Daveth had drunk it and choked to death. People shouldn't die like that; it wasn't right that you could eat breakfast with someone then be staring at their corpse less than a day later. But it happened didn't it? People killed each other every day: kids knifing each other on the way home from school or shooting random passers-by just because they could. She was sheltered, living in a comfortable, safe world and kept well away from the horrors of life. She lived in a nice area, went to a good school and stayed away from places that looked dangerous. Her friends might be boisterous, Mateo might be aggressive but they never did anything like this.

The whole world had come down to the cup in her hands. She could feel nothing except the cold metal under her fingers. She knew Duncan was watching her; he had to be, watching with his dark eyes that gave nothing away. Ceri's mind was racing, looking for an answer, for a way out. There had to be a chance of success, otherwise it wasn't fair. How did you get Grey Wardens if the Joining was a death-trap? Alistair had said he was the new Grey Warden, surely that meant that he had done this and survived? Or maybe this was the Wardens' way of getting rid of recruits who weren't up to the standard they wanted? That was more likely. There was no way they could really want her to be a Grey Warden, not after needing three men and a dog to keep her safe on one relatively easy mission. Maybe Alistair had realised that she was a liability after all, for all his encouraging words. This was what it had come to: drink from the poisoned cup or die at Duncan's hand. Jory must have refused to drink, that was why he had to die. They couldn't risk their dirty secret getting out.

_Drink or die_, Ceri thought desperately, _or drink and die. What sort of a choice is that?_

Her breathing slowed as a terrible calm came over her. She released a long tortured sigh and raised the cup to her lips, the vile liquid sliding down her throat and coating her mouth with a thick coppery residue. In that first moment it was only disgusting as the foul taste of the blood filled her mouth and nose and her stomach heaved in rebellion. Then everything began to burn like she'd swallowed scalding syrup. She could feel it all the way down to her stomach; blazing pain that seemed to be trying to claw its way out from everywhere at once. Her head buzzed and rang, fine burning tendrils creeping from her mouth, across her cheeks and clawing at her scalp. Ceri gasped trying to pull air into her starving lungs but it was thick with copper and bile and she felt panic grip her as she couldn't breathe. Her world narrowed, black and silver sparkles filling her eyes until she could see nothing else. Something was coming, searching for her, she could feel it but she couldn't _see._

_Open your eyes,_ she thought in desperation, _open them. Wide. Wider. You've got to see it._

She could feel the blood pounding through her veins as her heart hammered in panic. Her pulse was roaring in her ears. Her eyes _were_ open, she knew it, could feel the pain in the muscles of her face as she struggled to force them to open wider. Flashes of green fought against the black and silver. Was that her pulse she could hear? It didn't sound right, somehow. Suddenly she could see once more. A long bony head filled her field of vision; an impossible head covered with spikes and a cruel mouth full of long pointed teeth. Huge eyes full of vicious intelligence captured hers and the roaring began again.

Ceri screamed.

xxx

A cool breeze played across Ceri's skin, ruffling her hair and bringing the sleepy song of the camp at rest to her ears. She breathed deeply, dragging the clean air into her lungs, her senses gradually coming back. Her head was pounding, the insistent thumping setting off red sparks in the darkness behind her eyes. The burning had subsided but she could still feel it as a dull itch just under her skin. Her limbs felt heavy, the joints stiff and aching. Ceri flexed her fingers and was surprised when the lethargy began to ease. A hand gripped hers, fingers hot against her chilled skin. Somehow she knew it was Alistair even before he spoke.

"She's coming round." The relief in his voice made him sound very young.

Ceri opened her eyes, steeling herself against the pain she knew would follow. The pounding headache and the fuzzy feeling behind her eyes told her louder than any words that she had the mother of all migraines; she needed painkillers and sleep, preferably a lot of both. Her heart sank. There were no painkillers here though, were there? No aspirin to dull the pain enough so she could sleep it off. Duncan's bearded face came into view, his dark eyes searching hers.

"It is over," he said. "Welcome, Sister."

"How do you feel?" Alistair asked, helping her to sit up. He hadn't let go of her hand and he was holding her like she was made of spun glass.

"I feel sick," she replied, her voice rough and scratchy, "and I think someone put a rat in my brain. It's trying to eat its way out right now."

"You should get some rest," Duncan told her. "Nothing will happen before tomorrow morning."

Ceri nodded then hissed as her head protested the movement. Alistair winced in sympathy as he helped her stand.

"Alistair, go with Ceridwen and ensure she gets back to her tent safely. Then go and speak with Wynne. She will be able to provide something to sooth that headache." Duncan smiled at Ceri and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "The Joining affects everyone differently but some sleep should set all to rights."

Obediently Ceri let Alistair lead her away. He kept one hand on her elbow as they walked, ready to catch her if she stumbled. Every step renewed the raw pain in her head and set her stomach rolling like water on the boil. They reached her tent and he helped her ease herself down onto the bedroll.

"Two more dead," Alistair said, sounding sick himself. "Only one of us died at my Joining, but it was horrible. I'm glad you made it through."

Ceri tugged at the laces of the breastplate with clumsy fingers. Glancing up she saw Alistair look away, the rosy blush staining his cheeks visible even in the dim light from the fire outside.

"Right now this very minute, I'm not sure it's a good thing," she groaned, wincing as the motion of lifting the armour over her head made her stomach heave. "The way I feel, I think not making it through was preferable."

"Poor little dormouse," he chuckled. "I'll run over to the mages and get something for your head."

She stretched out on the bedroll, covering her eyes with one arm and scratching Khan's ears with her free hand. The Mabari grunted in his sleep but didn't move. It seemed like hours before she heard footsteps approaching once more but it probably wasn't more than about fifteen minutes. Alistair ducked under the tent flap and sat beside her. He held out a small glass bottle full of a vibrant red liquid.

"Wynne says this is guaranteed to make you feel better," he said, keeping his voice down. "I told her what you said about the rat and that you feel sick and she said it sounded like a, well I forget the word but she definitely said this would fix it."

"Migraine," Ceri rasped as she reached for the bottle. "The word is migraine."

"Sounds about right," he agreed. "You're supposed to drink it all in one go, Wynne said. Apparently it tastes pretty vile and if you sip it you won't finish it."

Ceri made a non-committal noise and sniffed the potion suspiciously. Ignoring Alistair's advice she took a cautious sip from the bottle. After all, she was in this state from drinking something without knowing what it was and she wasn't about to get caught the same way twice. The liquid was thick, warm and tasted of cloves.

_Hmm, not bad,_ she thought as she downed the rest of the bottle in one gulp. _Then again, after whatever was in that cup Duncan foisted on me, even vinegar would taste good._

She could feel warmth spreading through her as it had before but without the accompanying pain that she had experienced during the Joining. In the wake of the initial flush of warmth, Ceri felt the tightness in her head easing off. Although she was still muzzy, she thought she might actually be able to risk nodding without her head falling off.

"Well you're a better colour at least," Alistair said. "How do you feel?"

"Better than I did," she sighed. "I wouldn't have believed it could work so fast."

"Hopefully you'll be able to sleep now." Alistair shifted, then seemed to remember something. He held out a small silver medallion on a leather thong. "Here, this is for you. It's the last part of the Joining."

Ceri took it from him and squinted at it in the half-light. It was about the size of a penny, shaped like a locket but with no apparent means of opening it. On one side there was an engraved device of a rearing creature with the head and wings of an eagle and the body of a big cat.

"Is that a griffin?" Ceri asked turning the medallion to catch the light.

"That's right. It's the Grey Wardens' crest." He watched as she tied the thong round her neck, the silver glistening in the firelight as it nestled in the hollow of her throat. "We take some of the blood you drank and put it in the medallion. Every new Grey Warden gets one. It's to remind us of those who didn't make it this far."

"Is that was it was?" Ceri murmured, touching the cold metal and thinking that she was unlikely to ever forget the look on Daveth's face as he died. "That's why we had to get the Darkspawn blood, right?"

"That's it." Alistair smiled as he got to his feet. "There'll be plenty of time to tell you all of the wonderful things that go with being a Grey Warden but right now you'd better get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a big day."

She watched him pull the tent-flap shut behind him as he left, the fire outside casting his silhouette on the canvas wall. She pulled the blanket up round her shoulders, pressing back into Khan's comforting warmth as she settled down. Sleep didn't come as swiftly as it had earlier that evening. Every time Ceri closed her eyes she saw Daveth's blackened face twisting into a mask of agony. She fidgeted and wriggled, twisting the blankets ever tighter around her body as she tried to think of something else. When she finally managed to blot out her memory of Daveth it was replaced by Jory's stunned expression as Duncan's sword tore through his body. She sat up, yanking the blanket from its stranglehold on her legs then kicking at it until it covered her properly again. At least her head wasn't pounding anymore, nor was it threatening to split down the middle at the slightest movement. She figured there must be something to what the mages did, if they could create a potion that cleared the worst of a migraine in less than five minutes. That gave her something to think about besides the horrible things she'd seen that night and trying to work out how the potion had worked occupied her mind and kept it from straying back to the disturbing images. Even then, the constant dull burn beneath her skin was a reminder of the events of the day. Still between Khan's rhythmic breathing behind her and the hypnotic dance of the firelight on the canvas, Ceri eventually drifted off into tangled dreams where shadowy figures watched her with malice filled eyes.

* * *

**A/N - **This chapter didn't work out quite as I'd expected - it was supposed to start with the recruits meeting Flemeth in the Wilds and go on from there but after two very awkward pages I realised that there was no way I was ever going to make it work. So I started again, and again, and eventually I managed to get there. Unfortunately it also ended up far longer than I'd intended so what was supposed to be a chapter covering the Joining and the Tower of Ishal is now just about the Joining. I'm typing the next part right now though so chapter 7 will follow in the next day or so.

I know I've missed out a lot of the action (and dialogue) from the Joining and I've moved some parts around. I'm working along the lines that Ceri was so freaked out by what happened to Daveth that she missed what was happening with Jory until Duncan actually killed him. In the game you witness the Joining as an outside observer but you never really see what the P.C. was thinking or feeling except for a couple of dialogue choices afterwards. I spent a rather long evening trying to imagine what it must feel like to have that chalice in your hands, knowing that in all likelihood drinking from it was going to kill you but not drinking would get you killed anyway. Maybe I shouldn't have done it clutching a boiling hot cup of tea though - it did add realism to the whole burning part though.

I did rather fancy the idea of Alistair staying with Ceri, at least until she fell asleep but it didn't happen (she refused to ask him, silly girl!) but at least I remembered to get the Warden's Oath medallion in, after it got left out in all three drafts. I figured if the Warden Commander's armour has the griffins on it, the Warden's Oath would as well. Besides, I like griffins - so much so that I got Wynne really angry when she was telling the story about the Grey Wardens by choosing "Griffins?" or the equivalent every chance I got.

As always thank you to everyone who is reading along and extra big hugs to my reviewers - your comments and encouragement always give me a boost and make it easier to keep writing. I'm sorry if the chapters don't come out as quickly as they might but I want to get them as good as I possibly can before posting - I can be rather obsessive about polishing chapters it seems.


	7. The Tower

**Chapter 7 – The Tower  
**

Ceri drifted up from sleep to find Khan licking her face. When he saw her eyes were open the Mabari sat back on his haunches, tongue lolling from his mouth and tail wagging with unbridled enthusiasm. She groaned and pulled the blanket up to cover her head as Khan made an interrogative noise, halfway between a growl and a whine. When he got no response the dog snuffled at the blankets until he discovered that by covering her head, his mistress had left her feet exposed. Her shriek of protest as he started licking her toes startled him and he found his head engulfed in the rough blanket before he could even think of escaping. Ceri pulled Khan's face up to hers, the blanket wrapped round him like a headscarf.

"You're a horror," she told him, scrubbing his ears through the rough cloth. "What are you?"

_Bored now. _He darted forward and licked her face from chin to hairline. _Time to get up and play, yes?_

"Time to get up, yes," she said, kissing his nose. "Don't know about playing though. Maybe later."

When Ceri turned to her piled up armour she found that a clean vest and the linen underwear Aline had called 'smallclothes' had been left next to her leathers. She'd been rather surprised by how much like modern underwear the smallclothes were; apart from the rather rough design it might have been a bikini. Still the linen was soft and comfortable to wear and she lost no time in changing. She had just finished fastening the breastband when Alistair's voice filtered through the canvas.

"What's going on in there?"

"Nothing interesting," Ceri replied, her voice muffled as she pulled on the clean vest. "Khan decided it was time to get up, that's all."

"That's a relief," he called. "It sounded like you were fending off Darkspawn in there."

She hurried on the rest of her clothes, lacing up her armour as she left the tent. She found Alistair sitting by the fire, cleaning a curved blade with an oiled cloth. Ceri recognised it as one of the daggers Daveth had been trying to teach her to use. Had it only been two days ago? It felt like a hundred years. She felt her heart twist at the thought of her fellow recruits and sat heavily beside Alistair, gazing into the flames as Khan curled up at her side. He nudged her arm repeatedly until she lifted it to let him tuck his head into her lap.

_Grey Wardens don't cry,_ she told herself. _You are not a baby. You're a Grey Warden now. Behave like one. Grey Wardens don't cry._

"You'll need these," Alistair told her, handing the sheathed blades over.

Ceri stared at them, turning them over and inspecting the straps and buckles attached to the sheaths, unsure what she was supposed to do with them. Shaking his head, Alistair showed her how to fasten the straps around her waist so the daggers rode along her thighs, but didn't impede her movement. She didn't miss the way his face flamed when his hands brushed her legs and she wondered why he was so embarrassed. After all, touching her hadn't bothered him when he'd been chasing her round the fire the other night. She smiled as memory warmed her, helping her to push down the pain and sorrow until she had it screwed up into a tight little ball that she could put to the back of her mind.

"What's for breakfast?" she asked, hoping the change of subject would put him more at ease. "I'm starving."

"You missed it," he replied with a shrug. "I was going to wake you but Wynne threatened me with dire consequences if I did."

"Oh, right." Ceri frowned, feeling a little hurt at the careless tone. "What's for lunch then?"

"You missed that too. Wynne's fault really." Alistair glanced at her crestfallen expression and grinned. "It's lucky you woke up when you did. I was about to give up on you and eat this myself."

He handed her a lumpy object wrapped in thin cloth. Opening it she found a rough sandwich: thick slices of roast beef and cheese between two crooked pieces of bread. It was delicious. Ceri munched happily on the sandwich, ignoring Alistair's amusement at her enthusiasm. She couldn't quite pin-point why it tasted so good: the bread was on the stale side, the beef was burnt and the cheese was dry. But after two days of exertion on a little stew, some bread and two bowls of porridge it might just be the best thing she'd ever eaten.

"Here," Alistair said, passing over a steaming mug, "if it's anything like the one I had it'll be dry."

She inspected the contents with a critical eye, sniffing at the murky brown liquid before she would even consider tasting it.

_After all,_ she thought, _it was drinking something without asking what it was that landed me with a migraine last night. Not to mention feeling like I've about eight million spiders crawling around under my skin._

"It's not poison." Alistair frowned as she raised her eyebrows at him before taking a cautious sip. "Honestly."

That's a matter of opinion," Ceri retorted, pulling a face as she drained the mug. "It might as well be. I hate tea."

"If you hate it so much why did you drink it?"

"Because it's better than nothing," she shrugged, "even if it is vile."

The prickling burn under her skin became more pronounced, now she wasn't distracted by the rumblings of her stomach. Without thinking Ceri began to scratch her forearm but it didn't help. The more she scratched the worse the itching became until at last Alistair grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away roughly.

"Stop it," he exclaimed, "you'll make your arm bleed if you go on like that. What's wrong?"

"I can't stand it," she grated, scratching at her neck with her free hand. "It feels like bugs running under my skin."

"Well, flaying yourself alive isn't going to help." Alistair was holding both her wrists now, his calloused hands warm against her skin.

"It started last night," Ceri said, trying to relax and ignore the maddening sensation. It helped that Alistair was still holding her hands well away from anywhere she might think to dig her nails into. "When I drank the blood or whatever it was, everything felt like it was on fire. When I woke up it felt like something was wriggling round under my skin. Something with way too many legs for its own good."

"Right, I get it now," he nodded. "That itching is the taint. It's what makes us Grey Wardens."

"Why does that not fill me with confidence?" Ceri nodded and he released his grip on her wrists. She folded her hands in her lap and concentrated on keeping them there, no matter how tempting it was to start scratching at her arms again. "So basically I'm stuck like this forever? Great, that's just great. Knowing my luck people will think I've got fleas off Khan or something."

"It won't be this bad forever," he said, "I promise. You'll learn to ignore it eventually."

"Seriously? Cuz right now I just want to tear my skin off." She yanked her hand back down before her nails connected with her face. "How can you stand it?"

"Everyone feels it differently," Alistair said, wincing in sympathy. "After my Joining I felt like I was sitting too close to a fire the whole time, but it eased off after a while. Give it a couple of days and you'll get used to it. Won't she, Duncan?"

Ceri looked up to find the older man was standing nearby, a half smile on his lips as he watched them talk.

"Alistair is right. You will learn to ignore the taint in your blood, just as you will learn to use the skills it gives you."

She nodded slowly, trying to reconcile the memory of him running Jory through with the friendly presence before her.

"The King has requested your presence at our meeting Ceridwen," Duncan said, crossing to her and offering his hand to help her up. His smile faded as she flinched, her eyes flicking to his sword and then up to his face. "What is wrong?"

"Why did you kill Jory?" she asked in a tiny voice.

"Jory was warned that there was no turning back but when he went for his sword he left me no choice. It brought me no pleasure to end his life." Duncan sighed and knelt beside her, his dark eyes kind as they met hers. "You were not volunteers, Ceridwen, the three of you were chosen because you were needed. Do you understand?"

_Now he asks if you understand, _said a sarcastic voice in the back of her mind. _Might have been more to the point to ask that before pouring Darkspawn blood down your throat._

Ceri wanted to shout at them both, tell them that it wasn't fair, that she wasn't the girl they thought she was and she hadn't understood the implications of their precious Joining. What did she know about duty and sacrifice? To her sacrifice meant buying one dress instead of two so she could afford the shoes to match. Wars were fought so far away that they might as well be taking place on the moon for all the impact they had on her life. Now they expected her to smile and nod, to say everything was alright, of course she understood, we all have to make sacrifices right? Except the look in Duncan's sad eyes said louder than words that he didn't expect that. He understood that she was afraid and confused and he sympathised, but he expected her to be an adult, to get on her feet and take up the duty of a Grey Warden.

"That's why it's such a big secret, isn't it?" she asked, feeling sick. "Cuz people would run a mile if they knew what you've got to go through to be a Grey Warden. If you even survive at all."

"If only such secrecy were unnecessary," Duncan replied, "but the Blight demands sacrifices of us all. Thankfully you are still here as proof they are not all in vain."

The thing that scared her most was that he sounded sincere. There was no hint of a lie in his deep voice, he _was_ glad that she had survived the Joining. Duncan got to his feet and offered his hand to her once more. This time she took it without hesitation, letting him help her stand. Khan jumped up, taking his now familiar position on her left side.

"Just so you know," she said, looking Duncan square in the eye, "this whole stupid situation sucks. What do we do now?"

"You come with me," he said. "We cannot keep the King waiting any longer."

She glanced over her shoulder at Alistair to find him watching her out of the corner of his eye. She was surprised how guilty he looked, like he'd been caught drop-kicking kittens into the Mabari pens and she wondered if he thought she was blaming him. Ceri suppressed the urge to hug him, as she would have done for any of her friends if she'd come upon them looking so forlorn, remembering how he'd blushed earlier when he'd helped her with the knives. Instead she touched his shoulder to get his attention.

"I hope you don't think this means you've dodged Darkspawn Slaying for Dummies," she said, with a wry smile. "As the designated babysitter it's your job to show me how to fight properly. Otherwise I'll be tugging on your sleeve every two minutes to ask if I'm doing it right."

He looked up at her, his forehead creasing into a frown.

"You're not serious?"

"I am too. If you don't show me properly I'll drag every Darkspawn I find over to you and make you watch until you're sure I'm getting it right." Her smile widened as he began to grin. "It'll be the most embarrassing battle of your life, I swear. Just think, all those Darkspawn standing in a queue, tapping their feet and wanting to know if it's their turn yet."

"Now that is a very disturbing thought," he said, looking happier, "and I wouldn't put it past you for a second. You'd better hurry though. If you don't Cailan will think you're not taking him seriously. Then he'll sulk and start crying. It won't be a pretty sight."

* * *

King Cailan was tall, blonde, handsome and so far as Ceri could tell, as thick as a brick. He seemed genial enough, greeting Duncan warmly as they approached. His smile had grown even wider when he caught sight of Ceri's slight figure, half hidden behind the tall Warden. He had congratulated her on being accepted as a Grey Warden and Ceri had to bite down on the angry words that welled up in her throat. She felt mouth turn down at the corners and she drew back behind Duncan, allowing his bulk to hide her until she could get herself back under control. It was hard to listen to him prattling about honour and glory when all she could think about was Daveth and Jory lying dead somewhere. She didn't deserve to be a Grey Warden; she was just a kid, not a fighter like Jory or a clever thief like Daveth. Glancing up she met the gaze of an older man standing near the long table covered with maps. She couldn't tell how old he was; to her eyes he was just 'old', falling into the same category as her teachers and other adults. But that couldn't disguise the fact that he had been good looking when he'd been younger, even the broken nose and dark circles around his eyes couldn't hide it. He was staring at her like he couldn't quite believe his eyes. It didn't surprise her; he was probably thinking the same thing everyone seemed to: what on earth is that child doing here? She straightened, her shoulders going back and her chin lifting. She might look like a child, might not deserve to be a Grey Warden but that didn't change the fact that she was one. Fortunately the man was distracted from his contemplation by the King's repeated enthusiasm for the coming battle. Ceri felt a surge of sympathy for him as he tried to persuade the King that putting himself in the front lines of battle was foolish and risky. Cailan was adamant however, if the Grey Wardens were going to be in the forefront of the battle then that was where he was going to be. Still he seemed to recognise the need to mollify his irritated companion, turning back to the maps and even managing to reign in his enthusiasm for the time being. The plan made sense to Ceri as she drew close to get a better look at the map: Cailan and the Wardens would take half of the army and meet the Darkspawn head on, while the rest of the soldiers would wait in hiding for a signal to attack from the rear.

"The beacon is here in the Tower of Ishal, yes?" Cailan asked, peering at the map. "Who shall light it?"

"I have a few men stationed in the tower," the older man replied. "It is not a dangerous task but it is vital."

"Then we should send our best," Cailan said, turning to Duncan. "Send Alistair and our new Grey Warden."

Ceri was caught between surprise, relief and amusement at his words. She was stunned that she'd just been included in the 'best' category, despite her appearance and the fact she'd only just become a Warden. She wondered what Lady Cousland was like, if the King would trust her with something like this. If nothing else she must be brave and a good fighter, probably smart too or Duncan wouldn't have wanted to recruit her. How long would it be before he accepted that Ceri was none of those things? She was just grateful that Cailan's desire for Grey Wardens to be in charge of lighting the beacon meant that she wouldn't be anywhere near the battle. She risked a glance at the King's companion. His eyes were narrowed and he looked like he might explode at any second.

"You put too much faith in these Grey Wardens, Cailan," he snapped. "Are you sure this is truly wise?"

"Enough of your conspiracy theories, Loghain." He frowned, as though he couldn't understand why the older man was being so awkward. "The Grey Wardens battle the Blight, no matter where they're from."

Ceri had felt her nerves at the prospect of such a responsibility ease with the knowledge that Alistair would be with her. After three days she was already as comfortable with him as she was with friends she had known for years. They would be safer than they had been in the Wilds, she could see that from the map. The tower was in the ruins behind the camp and there would be an army between them and the Darkspawn. Then a disturbing thought occurred to her. What if Alistair resented being given baby-sitting duty? She'd been joking when she'd used the word earlier but that's what it was after all. When all was said and done she wasn't even a proper fighter, just a girl with a little skill at archery. But then what did this 'vital task' as Loghain put it actually involve? Lighting a signal beacon at the top of a tower? Ceri had read some history and understood the theory behind it: either at a pre-arranged time or pre-arranged signal the beacon would be lit, a nice big fire that could be seen for miles. It had to be at the top of the tower, that was only sense – no use in putting a beacon in the basement after all. From what she could see of the map the tower was well behind the defenders' line so it was unlikely to see any action and Loghain had said he had men stationed there so even if there was trouble, help would be close at hand.

"Um, excuse me?"

They all stared at her and Ceri thought she must look a comical sight, with her lower lip caught between her teeth and one hand raised hesitantly. At least Duncan and the King looked amused, Loghain looked more like he was about to swallow his tongue.

"What is it Lady Cousland?" Cailan asked.

"Well, if it's not dangerous in the tower, I could light the beacon myself. Your Majesty," she added, remembering who she was speaking to. She turned to Duncan, eyes wide in appeal. "Khan will be with me and there will be soldiers there too. I can do this, if you'll just give me the chance. There must be much more important things for Alistair to do than baby-sitting me."

Duncan shook his head but before he could speak Cailan interrupted.

"No, it's best that you both go." He sounded thoughtful, with none of his earlier brash enthusiasm. Then he smiled at her. "Do not take it as any slight on your own ability, my lady. I am sure you are more than capable."

"Ceridwen, return to camp and tell Alistair what has been decided," Duncan said. "I will join you shortly."

* * *

"So what did you think of Cailan?"

Alistair's question caught Ceri off guard as she trudged back to their small camp. She had been so deep in thought she hadn't noticed him leaning against one of the pillars at the top of the ramp leading down towards the quartermaster's tents. He frowned when she glanced up at him, her mouth turning down as she tried to think of the best way of telling him he was going to be stuck looking after her yet again. At least answering his question would delay the inevitable for a while.

"He's very... enthusiastic," she said, struggling for something diplomatic to say. In all honesty she wasn't impressed with Cailan. She found his careless attitude to the coming battle annoying, not to mention the fact that his decision would royally upset the one person who was willing to be her friend.

"Is that it?" Alistair asked. "Just... _enthusiastic_?"

"Alright," she snapped, nettled by the probing questions, "he's a prat. A vain, stupid, glory seeking, unthinking prat. Satisfied?"

"Come now, don't hold back," he laughed, "tell me what you really think."

"Well it's true," Ceri said, wondering if she sounded as defensive to him as she did to herself. "He's completely up himself. I felt really sorry for the old guy who was with him. At least _he _was trying to do something productive."

"Old guy?"

"Really old, like sixty or something," she said, "and it looked like he wasn't getting enough sleep. I think Cailan called him Loghain?"

"Teyrn Loghain, the Queen's father," Alistair nodded. "He's the general in charge of the army."

"Well that explains why he looked like he was going to have a fit every time Cailan started enthusing about the battle." Ceri shook her head, smiling as a funny thought occurred. "You know I think he honestly believes that the Darkspawn are going to come charging up to the line, skid to a halt and commit mass suicide in the face of his magnificence."

"That's Cailan for you," Alistair laughed, not meeting her eyes when she glanced up at him, "brave, bold and handsome. Wouldn't you say?"

"Strong, rich and thick are good traits in chocolate but not so much in men," Ceri shrugged, but underneath she was worried. There had been brittle note in that laugh that wasn't quite right and Alistair was watching her like her answer mattered far more than his careless tone implied. "And he isn't _that _handsome either. He's far too chunky."

"Chunky?"

He stared at her for a long moment and then doubled over laughing. Ceri grinned, pleased with his reaction to her honest statement. That was the good thing about being slightly mental, as Merrill put it. She said the first thing that popped into what passed for her mind and it usually tickled someone's sense of humour. They managed to get back to the tents without mishap, although Alistair stumbled a couple of times when his laughing fit got the better of him. He managed to pull himself together long enough to hand her a soft leather bundle. Examining it Ceri decided it was the approximate equivalent of a handbag: designed like a small satchel but with a belt rather than a shoulder strap. Inside were several small vials of red liquid like the one Alistair had brought her the night before and some tightly rolled bandages. Under these was a leather pouch filled with gold and silver coins and a tiny silver dagger no longer than her palm. She fastened the belt round her waist and sliding the bag to rest in the small of her back.

"Where did this come from?" she asked.

"Duncan gave me the bag to look after," Alistair told her, recovering his composure. "He said it was yours. Wynne brought the medicine and bandages. She said we'd probably need them."

"We?"

"Alright, me," he admitted. "Somehow she's got the impression that I get injured a lot."

"What would make her think that?" Ceri asked, settling her quiver in place and adjusting it so it didn't catch on the bag. She glanced up from stringing her bow to see that Alistair's ears had gone red.

"Probably because she's had to patch me up three or four times since we got here," he shrugged. "It happens, I'm used to it."

A cheerful bark from Khan announced Duncan's approach and it dawned on Ceri that she hadn't told Alistair the outcome of the meeting yet. With a guilty glance at Duncan she screwed up her courage and spoke.

"Alistair, I was supposed to tell you what happened at the meeting but I kind of, well, didn't," she said, blushing as he raised an eyebrow. "Sorry."

"Alright, now I'm curious," he replied, frowning. "Don't tell me the best plan they could come up with involves me distracting the Archdemon with my devastating wit while everyone else tries to kill it?"

"Not really no. Cailan said he wants us, you and me, to light some signal beacon at the top of the big tower thing on the edge of the ruins." Ceri winced as his face fell and hurried on. "I'm sorry, I really am. I tried to tell them I could go on my own. It's not fair that you keep getting stuck looking after me."

"It's not your fault," he told her, his voice tight with disappointment. "Is it true, Duncan? I'm not going to be in the battle?"

"This is by the King's personal request, Alistair," Duncan explained patiently. "If the beacon is not lit, Teyrn Loghain's men won't know when to charge."

"So he needs two Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch," Alistair snapped, "just in case."

"I still think Khan and I could do this," Ceri added, ducking her head as Duncan turned his stern gaze on her. "You need everyone you can get in the battle, surely?"

"That is not your decision to make," Duncan replied. "If King Cailan wishes Grey Wardens to ensure the beacon is lit then Grey Wardens will be there. We must do whatever we must to destroy the Darkspawn, exciting or no."

"I get it," Alistair sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Then his head came up defiantly. "Just so you know, if the King ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line, Darkspawn or no."

Ceri felt a snigger catch in the back of her throat and she struggled to keep her face straight but the mental image of Alistair's tall frame wrapped in a ball-gown was too much and she began to giggle.

"I don't know," she gasped, "I'd kind of like to see that."

"For you maybe," he said with a grin. "But it has to be a pretty dress."

"It'd be a great distraction," Ceri added, still trying to stop laughing. "Just picture it."

"What? Me shimmying down the Darkspawn line?" Alistair began to laugh outright. "I suppose we could just kill them as they roll about laughing, right?"

Ceri's amusement died suddenly when she caught Duncan's eye. The older Warden was frowning at them both and he gave a weary sigh.

"The battle is about to begin," he told them. "Get to the tower and wait for the signal to light the beacon. Alistair knows what to look for. You have less than an hour."

"The general said that it wouldn't be dangerous in the tower," Ceri said, feeling a chill run through her, like someone walking on her grave. "Everything will be ok, won't it?"

"Even the best laid plans can go awry," Duncan told her, "but I trust you both to do whatever you must. Remember, you are both Grey Wardens. I expect you to be worthy of that title."

"Duncan," Alistair called after him as he turned to leave, "may the Maker watch over you."

"May He watch over us all," Duncan replied.

* * *

Alistair led the way through the camp and Ceri had to run to keep up with Khan bounding along at her side. She had just decided to call out to him when he looked back and realised that her shorter legs couldn't match his pace. He slowed to let her catch up, favouring her with a tight smile as she drew alongside.

"Sorry," he said, as they cut across two lines of tents and out under broken arches toward the bridge leading to the tower. "I keep forgetting your legs aren't that long."

"I'm a short-arse, I know," she replied, raising her voice to carry over the racket as the battle got underway. "If it's too much trouble to slow down, you could always carry me."

His laugh was stolen by the roar of men and monsters below. Ceri could see a lurid orange glow to the south, beyond the line that Cailan's soldiers held with dogged determination. Thousands of yellow sparkles hung in the air, making lazy circles as they moved toward the defenders. As they started across the bridge Ceri's ears were assaulted by the shouts of the soldiers manning the huge siege engines lining the bridge. She recognised the weapons, massive crossbows that were capable of shooting whole trees as bolts but she couldn't remember their proper name. A brilliant light caught her eye and she stared, entranced by the giant ball of fire arching up overhead. It hung in the sky for a moment, blazing brighter than the sun then it began to fall toward the nearest group of men.

"Look out!"

Alistair's cry of alarm cut through her reverie, even as he grabbed her and pulled her into the shelter of his body, his shield held over both their heads. She felt his armour cutting into her face as he held her close, heard his grunt of pain as something hit the metal shield with a ringing thud, followed by the sound of lighter impacts in an almost musical chorus. As he released her, she could see fire licking at the shattered ruins of the nearby siege engine, long splinters of wood spread about the wreckage like a massive chrysanthemum. She tried not to look at the twisted remains of the men who had been operating the mechanism, at the charred and blackened corpses staring up at the uncaring sky with sightless eyes.

"Are you alright?" Ceri felt a surge of pride that her voice remained steady as she got in first with the question he always seemed to be asking her.

"Fine," he replied, rolling his shoulder to loosen it. "Are you?"

"Thanks to you, yes," she nodded. "Let's get moving. We've got a job to do."

It seemed that disaster was intent on plaguing them. As they reached the ramp leading up to the tower courtyard, they were met by retreating soldiers, shouting that the tower was overrun by Darkspawn as they stumbled and tripped over each other in their haste to escape.

_Of course it is,_ Ceri thought with a wry smile. _Why would this stupid job be any easier than it should be?_

Standing near the steps she saw a man wearing a robe similar to Wynne's, watching the fleeing soldiers with tired eyes. She recognised him from her foray into the mages' encampment.

"Aren't you Wynne's friend?" she called, hurrying to his side. "What's going on? The general said this place wasn't supposed to be dangerous."

"The Darkspawn have broken through the lower levels and overrun the tower," he replied. He shook his head. "Mage I may be but I cannot face them all alone."

"We'll have to light the beacon ourselves," Alistair said grimly.

"Then we will," Ceri said, sounding far braver than she felt. Glancing round she spotted two soldiers who hadn't fled like their comrades. "Come on, you two. Let's get moving."

_Two soldiers, two Grey Wardens, a mage and a dog. Sounds like the start of a joke,_ she thought as they began to wade through the Darkspawn thronging in the tower grounds. _Let's hope the punch line isn't 'and they all went to pieces'._

Inside tower vestibule they halted, stunned by the devastation that surrounded them. Bodies of soldiers and Mabari were scattered about like toys discarded by an angry child. There was a sickly black sheen on the corpses that left them looking like they'd been coated in oil. Alistair bypassed them quickly and peered around the door leading into the main room of the tower. Ceri heard him begin to swear under his breath.

"What's wrong?" she asked, hurrying to his side. "Aside from the obvious, of course."

"It's swarming with Darkspawn," he replied. "They've barricaded the room. That's not the problem though. There's an emissary in there."

"What's that?"

"A Darkspawn mage." Alistair ducked back before he could be spotted by anything in the next room. "If we go charging in there we're going to get roasted."

"I'm not dressed for roasting," Ceri protested weakly. "Isn't there something we can do?"

"Don't rush me, I'm thinking," he muttered, face twisting in concentration.

"What use are you, Templar, if you cannot defeat one Darkspawn mage?" The mage's tone was bitter as he glared at Alistair.

"We're too far away," Alistair replied, "I know. Don't rub it in, alright? My self esteem won't take it."

"Wait, go back a minute," Ceri exclaimed as the mage's comment sank in. "Templar? As in 'you've got no business in the mages' enclosure so shove off' Templar? You're one of those great tin-plated bullies?"

"Was," Alistair corrected, "I _was_ one of those great tin-plated bullies. Duncan rescued me before I actually took vows though. So really I was only a tin-plated bully in training."

"Oh. Right. Ok. Well, when we get out of this you can tell me all about it," she muttered, peering past him into the room. She could see the shapes of Darkspawn in the gloom and tried to pick out which might represent the immediate problem of the so-called emissary. "Alright, I give in. Which one of the twenty equally ugly monsters present is going to throw a fireball at me?"

"Near the back of the room," Alistair said, pointing, "the one with bandages round its head."

It was short and ugly, as many of the Darkspawn she had seen in the last few days were. But around its hands was a sullen orange glow, similar to that which had hung in the air to the south of the battle. Ceri's eyes narrowed as she sized up the scene. Her shortbow might make the shot, but it would be at the very edge of her range. There again, the rubble and broken timbers that had been piled up around the door left only a very narrow margin for error. She had to risk the shot, there was no other way. She was aware of time ticking away, each wasted second of their hour dragging their mission a little closer to failure. This wasn't just their problem, it was everyone's, and every soldier out on the battlefield was relying on them to succeed.

_Do whatever you must, _Duncan had said.

"What are you doing?" Alistair exclaimed as she set an arrow to her bowstring and took aim. "You'll never make that shot."

"You have a better idea? Because right now we're running out of time." Her eyes never left her target as she continued. "Rushing it is not an option, not if it's going to fry you before you get there. Charred skin is not in vogue this season."

He said something but Ceri wasn't listening any more. The sounds in the tower faded as she focussed everything she had on this one shot. In her mind she could hear a woman's voice, rich and warm with a soft accent, speaking words that had struck a chord deep within Ceri's heart when she'd first heard them. It had been the reason she'd bought the stupid game, could really be said to be to blame for her being stuck in this stupid, impossible situation. One line spoken with utter conviction in response to the same command she was fulfilling now: Kill the Emissary.

_The righteous stand before the Darkness and the Maker shall guide their hand._

"You want it dead?" she asked, her bowstring thrumming as she let the arrow fly. "Done."

There was a faint crunching sound as the arrow smacked through the bandages surrounding the emissary's head. For a long moment it didn't move, then it slowly toppled forward and its own fires consumed it.

"Andraste's tits!" one of the soldiers exclaimed, staring at Ceri with shining eyes. Whatever he'd been about to say was lost in the furious roar that echoed from the room as the other Darkspawn noticed their comrade's demise.

"Keep behind us," Alistair told her as they moved forward to engage the monsters charging toward the barricade, "and try to keep the wall at your back. That bow of yours won't be much use if they press you in these close quarters. If you have to use your blades, strike for the eyes or throat."

Ceri nodded, that made sense: blind your enemy or incapacitate it by attacking a major blood vessel. She just hoped that the men would be able to keep the Darkspawn away from her or if that wasn't possible, that her nerve didn't fail her if she had to defend herself.

* * *

They fought their way up through the tower, each successive wave of Darkspawn slowing them a little more. Ceri was grateful for the fact that the men seemed to understand that she wasn't a close fighter, using their greater bulk and reach to keep the Darkspawn away from her. In the large central room on each level there was enough space for her to bring her bow into action but in the smaller rooms and tight corridors the best she could do was to draw one of her knives and hope that the lucky slashes she got in would be enough to fend the monsters off until Khan or one of the soldiers could help her. She had been more than happy to let the real fighters lead the way until they reached the room that served as the kennels for the Mabari kept in the tower. As Alistair shoved the door open Ceri could see rows of caged dogs surrounded by Darkspawn. The monsters were jabbing at the hounds through the bars of the cages, making strange choking sounds as the penned animals howled and snarled in impotent fury. It was the sight of two dogs laying dead in their cages and the realisation that the vile sound coming from the Darkspawn was laughter that spurred Ceri into action. Ignoring Alistair's shout she darted into the room under his outstretched arm, lunging for the release on the nearest cage. The Mabari exploded from its confinement with a roar of triumph, tearing the throat from the nearest Darkspawn as it turned on Ceri. As her companions entered the fray Ceri moved from each cage to the next, freeing the hounds to join the attack. When the fight was over Alistair looked over to find her surrounded by an honour guard of four strange dogs plus Khan who had resumed his usual position at his mistress' left hip.

"We'd better keep moving," he said frowning at her. He turned away but swung back to face her before he'd taken a step. "Don't scare me like that, alright? How am I supposed to explain to Duncan that I let you get your head ripped off over a bunch of dogs?"

"I'm sorry," she replied, feeling a twinge of guilt. She hadn't stopped to think of the stupidity of dashing into a room full of monsters, she'd just seen the dogs' plight and reacted. "I won't do it again."

"Oh you probably will," he said with a half chuckle. "Just give me some warning next time."

As they paused on the landing that led to the top level of the tower Ceri tried to work out how much of their allotted hour remained. It was impossible, she realised. She was no good at judging the time, which was why she ended up playing games for hours when she thought only minutes had passed.

"I don't understand," Alistair panted, trying to catch his breath. "There wasn't supposed to be any resistance here. Where have all these Darkspawn come from?"

"Well there was that bloody great hole in the floor on the first level," Ceri pointed out. "That'd be my best guess anyway. Besides, you _said_ you wanted to be in the battle. I guess someone up there must've been listening to you."

"You're right," he replied with a rueful grin. "I suppose it _is_ a silver lining when you think about it."

"Yeah, well, next time would you mind wishing for chocolate cake instead of monsters?"

* * *

The worse surprise of the day was waiting for them on the top floor of the tower. As they entered Ceri made out what looked like a fireplace on the far side of the room and realised that this was the beacon they sought. She looked round hoping to find a means of lighting it, a torch or lantern but she could see nothing of the sort. A rumbling growl drew her attention to a pulsating blue mound in the centre of the room. It shifted and heaved as dark rivulets flowed around it, spreading across the stone floor accompanied by a thick squelching sound. Ceri felt her eyes go wide as it began to unfold itself, rising up and up to its full height of near fifteen feet. Now she could see the thick muscled limbs, the curving claws on hands and feet, the twisted horns crowning the ape-like head and the sharp fangs packed into the cruel maw. She was a child again, terrified of the monsters that lurked in the dark, the horrors that crawled out of the storybooks to take up station under her bed. She knew this monster, as surely as she knew her own name, knew what it was and what it did to anyone unfortunate enough to come within arm's reach. Her hands began to shake as the creature turned, as she saw the human head clutched in one hand, blood dripping from the ragged stump of the neck.

"Maker's Breath," one of the soldiers gasped, "what is it?"

"Ogre." Ceri heard the fear in her own voice as she spoke but everything seemed faint and distant, like there was a glass wall between her and the rest of the world. She was still scared of the danger the ogre represented but it felt more like someone else's fear than her own.

"It's between us and the beacon," Alistair said. She could see the concern in his eyes as he looked down at her. "Please tell me you have a plan?"

"Run away and hide?" she asked, half serious. She was cut off by the sound of pounding feet coming from the stairs behind them and was amazed by how steady her voice was. "Or maybe not."

The ogre roared and was answered by a howl from the advancing Darkspawn.

"Light the beacon," Ceri instructed the mage, who nodded. "No matter what happens to us, you _must_ get that fire lit."

Then she didn't have time to be afraid. A dozen Darkspawn charged out of the stairwell, howling with rage and hatred when they spotted the humans. Alistair bellowed a battle cry and charged the ogre, trying to draw it away from the beacon to allow the mage to pass. At Ceri's command three of the Mabari followed him, lunging and worrying at the thickset legs. One leaped into the air, fastening its jaws on the ogre's arm. It hung there for a moment before being dragged loose and thrown across the tower, sliding down the wall to lie in an unmoving heap. Ceri loosed arrows as fast as she could, each one finding its target, each new Darkspawn corpse slowing those following and allowing the defenders time to regroup. A cry of pain from behind her made her swing round, searching for the source. The mage lay sprawled across the wood filling the beacon's hearth, his face white and blood trickling from his mouth. The ogre was reaching for him when it let out an ear-splitting shriek and stumbled forward with Alistair's sword buried in the back of its leg. A shadow fell across Ceri and she dropped to one knee, ducking under the axe that swung at her. She scrabbled for a weapon and her hand closed on something cold and heavy. It was the severed head the ogre had been clutching, somehow thrown clear from the battle. She twisted, hurling the bloody projectile with all her might at the monster behind her. It stumbled, dropping the axe and Ceri snatched it up, throwing her whole weight behind the too heavy weapon as she swung it at its former owner. The shock of impact ran up her arms and jarred the axe from her grip but not before it lodged deep in the Darkspawn's chest. It plucked at the weapon as it choked and died.

Ceri had no time to reflect on the first creature she'd killed in close combat as one of the shorter Darkspawn charged at her. She dodged the first lunge, dragging her knives from their sheathes. Throwing her blades up in desperation she caught the descending sword inches from her face, fighting against her opponent's greater strength to keep the jagged blade away from her. The monster growled its fury at being thwarted and brought its free hand crashing down on her left shoulder. Ceri's knees buckled under the weight of the blow but she managed to jerk to the right, avoiding the next swing. As the Darkspawn drew the sword back she lunged to her feet, throwing herself bodily onto her foe and slashing at its throat just as Alistair had told her. She was momentarily shocked by the resistance against her blade but the elven knife was sharp and it sheered through the green-black flesh in a great wash of blood that steamed and sizzled on the floor and walls. As she wiped the blood from her face a terrible scream cut through the air. Ceri jerked round to see the mage thrashing on the ground, his body wreathed in flames. Behind him the beacon was alight, sending its message to the soldiers gathered below and Ceri knew in her heart that his death was her responsibility. She had told him to light the beacon no matter what and he'd done it, even though he'd been lying on the damn thing at the time. So she watched him burn, when all she wanted to bury her face in her hands and sob, because it was her fault he was dying in such agony and she owed it to him to watch. She heard Alistair shout her name but she couldn't drag her eyes from the smouldering remains. Khan's roar of fury mingled with the ogre's cry of triumph. She was spun as the Mabari barged past to tackle a Darkspawn creeping up on her and she saw the ogre take advantage of Alistair's distraction to snatch him up, lifting him high in the air. His face was white, eyes wide with pain as the huge claws closed about his body and he could only struggle against the iron grip that was growing inexorably tighter. The soldiers couldn't help him; Ceri could see them struggling to hold off the Darkspawn still pouring in the door. The remaining Mabari were worrying at the ogre's legs but were only succeeding in making the beast angrier.

"Let him go!"

Ceri was shocked at the angry screech that ripped from her throat as she hurled one of her knives at the ogre's head. It didn't even sound like her voice, full of fear and hate and anger. She didn't wait to see if the knife did any damage, knowing even if it reached its target that her strength wasn't enough for it to penetrate the ogre's thick hide deep enough to hurt. She snatched an ugly crude crossbow from the monster Khan was still mauling. Pulling the string back over the release, she ignored the pain as it bit deep into her fingers. She rammed a bolt in place and swung the bow to her shoulder.

"Stop picking on my friend!"

She knew it probably wasn't the most sensible thing she'd ever said, certainly not worthy of the Grey Warden that Duncan thought she was capable of being but at that moment she had never felt less like an adult, less like a Grey Warden. She was a child, fighting against the nightmares of childhood, more terrified for her friend's life than her own. She felt the twang of the bowstring all the way down to the soles of her boots, had the bow down and restrung before the bolt had even struck home. A second bolt was in the air as the first hit, buried to the flights in the ogre's throat. The beast howled and Alistair crashed to the floor as it released him to clutch at the metal shaft. It reared back, dropping to its knees and howling again as the second bolt punched deep into its skull. Alistair hauled himself upright, his sword sheering through flesh and sinew until the ogre stopped moving. Ceri threw the bow aside and ran to him as he pulled his blade free. Alistair turned, wheezing as his crushed ribs protested the sudden movement.

"Stop picking on my friend?" he asked in a raspy voice.

She gave a half shrug and bit her lip as white hot pain lanced through her. She clutched at her shoulder and felt wetness there. She lifted her hand and stared in blank incomprehension at the blood staining her fingers. Red blood, not black, not _Darkspawn_ blood but her own. She hadn't been injured, had she? The only blow that had landed on that shoulder had been a punch, hadn't it? In her mind's eye she saw the monster fall again as she slit its throat, a short dagger clutched in the right hand as the sword fell from the left. Her head was spinning as she held out her bloody hand to Alistair in a mute appeal for help. He grabbed her, pulling her away from the stairwell where the Darkspawn were massing. The soldiers were gone, trampled by the swarming monsters that were filling the room. Khan made a snarling retreat until he reached them, the one remaining Mabari joining him to stand between the humans and the Darkspawn tide.

Ceri stared at the Darkspawn, knowing there was no way she was going to make it out of the tower. After all the struggling, all the hoping that this was just some macabre dream she would wake from, now she realised that _this_ was reality. _This _was how it ended. She was going to die on top of an abandoned tower in a ruined city and no one would know. There was another girl in her place, living her life. That girl would carry on where Ceri had left off and her mum, her friends would never know that she wasn't meant to be there. Or maybe they did know, maybe they preferred this new Ceridwen and they didn't care what had become of her. Perhaps it was better this way. She could hear Alistair's laboured breathing as he shifted his grip on her, holding her tight to his side and she knew there was one last thing she could do.

"Let me go," she breathed.

"Never," Alistair grated. "Either we both get out of this or neither of us does."

"You could get past them, you know you could." Ceri could feel her strength fading fast, running out with the blood she could feel trickling down her cold skin. "You just have to let me go."

"I'm not leaving you," he said, a note of finality in his voice.

She saw the advancing monsters slow, saw them draw back their bowstrings, saw the arrows fly. She felt Alistair's body jerk with each impact, felt the stinging bite of the arrows as they punched through her leather armour. Then they were both falling.

* * *

**A/N - **Here it is at long last - I'm sorry it's taken so long to get this chapter up but I've had the worst month (including my car breaking down three times in the week before I went on holiday, workplace angst approaching epic proportions and major broadband issues) which has made it really difficult to get my head in the right place for writing. Still it's finally finished and I hope it's worth the wait. I'm not going to make any promises about when the next chapter will be up but I have got the next 3 chapters done in draft form so I can promise I will get there eventually. (P.S. sorry about the line breaks but when I post the chapters it always deletes the asterisks I use and I can't find another way of breaking the sections up)

Big hugs to everyone who reads and triple chocolate decadence cake for those who leave a review xx


	8. Lothering

**Chapter 8 – Lothering**

It was dark. Ceri floated in the darkness and wondered if this was what happened when you died. Just blackness? Forever? That was pretty boring. It showed a remarkable lack of imagination on the part of the universe. She became aware of soft noises in the dark, rustling, scratching sounds that hissed and whispered around her. No, not around, over there, in front of her but on the same level. Was she lying down? The rustling began again and this time she recognised it: pages turning. Someone was reading a book, a big one by the sound of it, with thick heavy pages. Now she could hear other sounds, a fire crackling, faint birdsong, the trickle of slow moving water. The ground underneath her was soft, if lumpy. No, that was wrong, wasn't it? The ground should be hard; she'd fallen on stone, so the ground should be hard. It wasn't, so this couldn't be the ground, it had to be something else. It wasn't her bedroll, that wasn't much softer than the ground. A proper bed then? Not her own bed, that _was_ soft but most definitely _not _lumpy. If there was a bed then it had to be indoors somewhere, right? She felt a little more solid with each thought. If she was in a bed then there was a serious chance she wasn't dead, most people didn't tend to put dead bodies in comfortable beds, however lumpy. There was just no call for it. After all it wasn't like the dearly departed were going to complain. Or maybe they would. In a country where ogres ran around causing havoc and people could heat up water just by pulling faces at it, maybe the dead could sit up and complain that their final resting place just wasn't up to scratch.

_Why don't you try it then?_ Her inner voice was a touch hysterical. _Tell whoever it is that the bed is lumpy and you want some breakfast._

Opening her eyes Ceri saw a dark haired figure sitting in at a rough table, slowly turning the pages in a large book. She shifted under the blankets and groaned as a sharp twinge pierced her shoulder. The reader looked up from the book and stood, crossing the room to stand by the bed. Ceri looked up and met sardonic golden eyes.

"Morrigan?" she asked hesitantly.

"So your eyes finally open," the woman replied, the ever present note of mockery in her voice muted. "And you remember my name. I am honoured."

Ceri frowned. Now she could smell rotting vegetation and stagnant water faint in the air, as well as burning wood and something savoury cooking. She peered at her surroundings, a one-roomed hut dominated by a cavernous fireplace where a large cauldron hung. Morrigan was watching her, curiosity in her eyes. Then it hit her, it had all been a bad dream: the meeting with Cailan, the tower, the ogre, everything. They were still in the Wilds, still looking for the scrolls Duncan had told them to retrieve. Ceri covered her eyes at the thought of what Jory was going to say when he saw her next. She must have passed out from sheer exhaustion and Morrigan had brought her inside to recover, or had her mother told her to? Ceri wasn't sure but the cool hand that touched her forehead briefly was gentle and the golden eyes weren't cold like they had been when Morrigan had spoken with Alistair.

"How much trouble am I in?" she asked, struggling to sit up. "Roughly? Jory's going to be harping on about this forever, I just know it. Are they all still out there or did they leave me behind?"

Her stomach lurched at the thought. Morrigan frowned at her, cocking her head as she considered the question.

"Mother did not say you had injured your head," she muttered, lifting Ceri's chin and peering into her eyes. "Ceridwen, 'tis three days since you were here last and near a day since Mother brought you and your friend here."

Three days? But that couldn't be right. Because if it was three days, then everything that had happened was real. She remembered the pain in her shoulder and began to explore with trembling fingers. She couldn't feel any wound but the spot ached deep into the muscle as she moved. Morrigan scowled and smacked her hand away.

"Stop that," she scolded, "'tis healing well and will continue to do so as long as you do not poke at it."

Ceri's hands dropped into her lap as she stared up at the still scowling witch.

"Will it leave a scar?" she asked, hating the tremble in her voice.

"What did you expect?" Morrigan demanded, irritably. "You were wounded; it has been healed, so of course it will leave a scar."

"Is it... ugly?" Ceri whispered. Her mind was whirling as her imagination presented ever worse possibilities to her.

"'Tis a _scar_," Morrigan countered, in a tone that suggested she thought Ceri was not quite bright. Then her angry posture softened a little and she seemed to take pity on the forlorn girl. "'Tis perhaps the length of your smallest finger and a little wider than a pen stroke. Surely you must have expected to be injured? You went into battle after all."

Ceri shook her head. She hadn't even considered the idea she might get hurt, not even when they'd seen the ogre. She'd been too scared to think about getting hurt, not when getting _dead_ was more likely.

"It never occurred to me," she admitted, "not for a minute. Why would it? I've never done anything before that was so dangerous. I was more scared about Alistair."

That brought her up short and she looked around wildly, expecting to see him in the room.

"Where is he?" she demanded, feeling sick as she remembered the sound of darkspawn arrows thudding into his body. "What happened to him?"

"The suspicious dim-witted one who was with you before, yes?" Morrigan asked pulling a face. "He is outside with Mother. He did not take the news of your battle well."

"The battle?" Ceri felt the world tilt under her. How selfish was she? To be worried about something stupid like if she had a scar or not when all those people had been out fighting the darkspawn. _At least we lit the beacon,_ she thought. _We did what we were supposed to._

"The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field," Morrigan told her. "Those he left behind were slaughtered by the darkspawn."

Loghain had given up on them? It didn't make sense to Ceri, not from what she'd seen of the man. He'd taken the battle plans so seriously, had been frustrated by Cailan's inability to focus on the task at hand. He'd gone out intending to win, hadn't he? So why would he give up? Unless. Guilt welled up in her throat, thick and bitter as bile. Unless he had no choice. Unless the signal came so late that there was no way he could have made a difference and his only option was to withdraw and save as many lives as he could. And if that was true it could mean only one thing: it was her fault they lost, her fault all those people were killed. She curled in on herself, forehead pressed to her knees as she rocked back and forth, the words pounding through her – your fault, your fault. What had she been thinking? She was no fighter; she was nothing but a stupid child trying to play at being an adult. The others had carried her through the Wilds, as the soldiers had protected her in the tower, all because she couldn't look after herself. Too slow, too weak, too _stupid_! How could she face Alistair now? The only friend she had in this stupid nightmare world and her _inadequacy _had destroyed everything. She wanted to cry, to howl her misery into the lumpy mattress but tears wouldn't come. Of course they wouldn't, she didn't deserve the luxury of sorrow not after this. It would have been better if she'd died on top of the tower.

"Get up!" Morrigan's sharp voice cut through the despair clouding her mind as the witch grabbed her uninjured arm and dragged her from the bed. "You are acting worse than your useless lout of a friend. Wallow in self pity if you must but I will thank you not to do so in _my _bed."

Ceri began to shiver as the chill air hit her. She was standing in a run-down hut in the middle of a swamp wearing only her underwear. If she hadn't felt so terrible at that moment she might have laughed. There was a loud rustle and then a bundle of clothing hit her in the chest.

"I have repaired your clothes _and_ your armour," Morrigan snapped, fixing her with a pointed glare until Ceri began to dress.

When she had the vest and trousers on Ceri took the leather armour the witch was holding and began to lace it up, fumbling with the ties. Her fingers felt like they were three times the size they should be, thick and clumsy. She straightened up and the room began to spin.

"Sit." Morrigan guided her to the chair and pushed her down. Although her tone was abrupt and her movement brusque there was a faint glimmer in her pale eyes that might have been concern. She lifted a small cup from its resting place on the hearth and held it out. "Drink this."

Ceri obediently gulped it down, forgetting her resolution never to drink anything again without asking what it was. The liquid was hot and bitter and tasted _green_. She didn't want to know what had gone into it, not when it had apparently been scooped straight from the brackish pool outside. Her stomach rolled and protested but she swallowed until the feeling passed.

"One day, someone, somewhere in this stupid, godforsaken country is going to hand me a cup that actually has something _nice_ in it," she muttered.

"You seemed determined to sink into despair," Morrigan pointed out, sounding amused. "'Twould be wasted to give you a pleasanter brew."

"It tastes like pond water," Ceri complained.

The foul potion lingered in her mouth and she suddenly wished she could brush her teeth to get rid of the taste. It had been bad enough that her teeth felt furry from not being brushed since she'd eaten breakfast with the mages. Even then she'd been shocked by the archaic process. The cleaning powder tasting of chalk, salt and mint that Wynne had given her had been pleasant enough and when it had been mixed with a little water it had turned into something very like toothpaste. But then she'd been handed a twig, an actual _twig_, to brush her teeth with. Still it was better than nothing and she had felt better afterwards.

"Of course it does," Morrigan smirked, turning back to the fire and stirring the contents of the cauldron. "All of Mother's brews do. 'Tis the frogs she puts in them."

"Tastes more like newt to me," Ceri muttered, tugging at her armour. She was surprised to hear the witch laugh, just as surprised it seemed as Morrigan herself was.

Despite the taste she could feel warmth spreading through her limbs and after a few minutes she found that she could finish lacing up her armour without difficulty. A soft thump beside her made her jump. Her gloves had been dropped onto the table, along with her quiver, bag and knives. Knife. One sheath was empty and there was no sign of her bow. Ceri sighed and began to fasten the straps around her body, sliding the quiver into place and settling the bag at the small of her back. She found her boots under the chair and she pulled them on quickly.

"How did we get here?" she asked, glancing up at Morrigan who was watching her with hooded eyes.

"Mother rescued you from the top of the tower," the witch replied, "and then she brought you here."

_Which is probably where my knife and bow still are_, Ceri thought. _I know I should be grateful that someone rescued us but I really liked that bow._

Guilt surged through her again. What was she thinking? What was one bow compared to all the people who had died in the battle? It was only Morrigan's steely glare still fixed on her that prevented her from hiding in a corner. Ceri squared her shoulders, ignoring the twinge that sliced through the muscle and met those eerie gold eyes.

"Thank you for helping us Morrigan." Ceri felt the lump in her throat choking the words but she had to keep going. "Thank you for everything."

"I... you are welcome," Morrigan replied, sounding even more confused than she looked, "though I did very little. Mother is the healer, not I."

"You could have left me on my own," Ceri pointed out, "but you didn't. Thank you."

She pushed the door open, blinking as the brilliant sunlight stabbed at her eyes. Alistair was standing at the edge of the lake, his back to the hut. He was wearing his armour and his sword and shield were on his back. If she hadn't known that his world had just fallen apart Ceri would have said there was nothing wrong with him at all.

"See, here is your fellow Warden. You worry too much, young man."

Ceri started at the cracked voice speaking almost in her ear. She turned to find Morrigan's mother standing in the shadows by the door. She met those malice filled eyes for a moment and looked away to see Alistair watching her. His expression made her want to cry, a mix of pain and confusion and anguish, like someone had ripped his heart out of his chest and now he couldn't quite understand how he was still alive or what he was supposed to do about it. She took a hesitant step towards him, flinching when he spoke.

"You... you're alive."

Ceri couldn't look at him, so she stared at her feet waiting for the accusation to come. She was responsible for that pain, for the utter despair in his eyes, it was her fault and he knew it. There was no way he couldn't know. She heard the clink of his armour as he crossed the distance between them and then his shadow fell on her. She shut her eyes tight as she turned her face away, praying he wouldn't hit her, knowing she'd deserve it if he did. Mateo had hit her once, backhanded her across the face when she'd been trying to stop him from attacking some poor lad whose only crime had been to smile at her. He'd apologised later, after Kisa had threatened to break his arm if he ever touched Ceri again and for her part Ceri had been willing to forgive him, accepting that it was partly her own fault for getting in the way. Even so, Mateo for all his height and bad temper, wasn't half as strong as Alistair. If Alistair hit her as hard as she deserved, he'd probably knock her half-way back to Ostagar. Her breath caught in her throat as she sensed his movement and she tensed, waiting for the pain. A strangled squeak was forced from her as his arms went round her waist and he lifted her off her feet. She could feel him shaking as he held her against his chest, his face pressed into her hair.

"I thought you were dead." His voice cracked on the last word and his arms tightened around her. "I... I thought I'd lost you too."

Ceri felt her mouth begin to tremble, felt tears pricking at her eyes as she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him back. He should hate her for getting all his friends killed and yet here he was hugging her, grateful that she was still alive. That actually hurt worse than if he'd hit her, made her heart twist until it felt like a fist was clenched tight about it. He shouldn't be hugging her, shouldn't be glad she was here. She was a stupid, useless child and he should be angry with her. But she was too much of a coward to tell him so; too afraid that if she did tell him what she'd done he would walk away and leave her here, abandoned in the middle of nowhere in a strange world where the only friend she had was him. His arms loosened their grip and he set her down gently.

"I can't believe this is happening. Everyone's dead, Duncan, the other Wardens, everyone. They're just _gone_." He ran his hands through his hair, shaking his head in disbelief. "We'd be dead too if it wasn't for Morrigan's mother."

"Don't talk about me as though I wasn't here, lad," the old woman's voice held a note of rebuke.

"I'm sorry," he said, anxious not to offend, "but I don't know what else to call you. You never told us your name."

"Names are pretty but useless," she sniffed, waving a dismissive hand. "The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do."

"Flemeth? _The_ Flemeth from the legends?" Ceri could see a trace of fear in his eyes as he continued, "Daveth was right. You're the Witch of the Wilds aren't you?"

"I know some magic," Flemeth conceded, "and it has served you well, has it not? What is needed now is for you to decide what to do about the Blight."

"What can we do?" he demanded. "I don't understand. We were winning. Why would Teyrn Loghain abandon the King? His own daughter's husband?"

"Maybe he had no choice?" Ceri asked but her quiet voice was drowned out by Flemeth.

"Perhaps he thinks the darkspawn are an army he can out manoeuvre," she said. "He doesn't see the true evil behind the Blight."

"I don't know what to do," Alistair admitted looking down at Ceri. "I just... don't know."

She met his eyes, forcing herself to take in just how much hurt her failures had caused. She had to make amends, had to do something to help him, to make up for some of that pain.

"Duncan said," she began but her voice broke and she had to push down the sob welling up in her throat. "He said we had to do whatever we had to, that we had to be Grey Wardens no matter what."

"Two Grey Wardens against the entire Hoard?" Alistair's voice came out in a disbelieving croak. "The two of us against all those darkspawn, not to mention the Archdemon?"

"Maybe we can find help somewhere?" It was a foolish question and she knew it. What help was there? Who would be mad or stupid enough to help them against these monsters?

"Wait a minute," Alistair exclaimed, his face lighting up, "the treaties."

"What treaties?" Ceri demanded feeling confused by the sudden change.

"The treaties we got from Morrigan's, sorry, from Flemeth. I've got them in my pack." His eyes were shining, his misery forgotten for the moment. "The _scrolls_, remember? Duncan gave them to me for safekeeping. They're agreements between the Grey Wardens and the elves and dwarves and the Circle mages and who knows who else. They're obligated to help us during a Blight."

"And that's what this is right?" Ceri's mind began to run properly, now she had a problem to work on, something to think about other than her guilt. "So, what then? We take the scrolls, find these people and hit them over the head until they make good on their promises?"

That raised a chuckle from him.

"There's Arl Eamon at Redcliffe as well," he added. "He wasn't in the battle so he'll still have all his men. He was Cailan's uncle too. Maybe he can help us."

"I may just be an old woman, but elves, dwarves, mages, this Arl Eamon and who knows what else? This sounds like an army to me." Flemeth's voice was faintly encouraging but Ceri still felt uneasy, like the old woman was deriving some grim amusement from their plight.

"Can we do it?" Alistair asked, his enthusiasm draining away as the enormity of the task dawned on him. "Can we go to all these places and raise an army?"

"Realistically? Not a hope in hell," Ceri replied. "But I don't see that we really have a choice. Not unless you want to ask the darkspawn to take a number and get in line?"

xoxox

Alistair watched the two figures walking ahead of him trying to summon up the enthusiasm to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Ceri's pale hair and grey leathers shone like a beacon in the gloom beneath the trees, where Morrigan seemed to blend into the shadows. Actually he was rather grateful for that; the witch hadn't improved any since they'd last met, glaring at him whenever she was nearby. The initial burst of energy that had come with the formation of their plans had waned quickly, until Alistair felt like he was wading through the swamp water instead of walking on the path. Every time he tried to turn his mind to the problem at hand it skittered off back toward Ostagar, how Duncan had died, how much he'd suffered before he had. Things had only got worse when Ceri had looked around anxiously and asked in a tentative voice what had happened to Khan. He'd been unable to answer, knowing only that the mabari wasn't with them in the Wilds. Morrigan had made an off-hand comment that her mother would have given no thought to rescuing a mongrel when she had the Grey Wardens to worry about. Ceri's eyes had gone wide and luminous with tears, then she had blinked rapidly and nodded. She'd even agreed with the heartless bitch but what had really made Alistair's blood boil was that she'd thanked Morrigan for telling her.

Even if he hadn't known up to that point how much she adored the mabari, now it was all too obvious. As they had gathered up the supplies Flemeth offered them and prepared to leave, Ceri had reached out with her left hand patting at the air beside her. It was the same unthinking gesture he'd seen her make a hundred times in the last few days, as she reached out to touch Khan's head or scratch his ears. Except now her hand passed through empty air before falling back at her side and the lost expression on her sweet face made his heart ache. She had bowed her head, eyes tight shut and hands balled into fists at her sides and when she straightened her face was composed once more. But it was a mask, like the players who entertained the crowds at Satinalia and this mask wasn't perfect as those were. There were lines of care and sorrow that hadn't been there before; even so she still looked like a child, one who was fighting to keep from bursting into tears. Amidst the despair that was clawing at his mind Alistair felt a surge of admiration run through him at the brave face she was putting on for their benefit. Ceri was hurting just as much as him, he was certain of that, but she seemed determined to soldier on regardless. He grabbed onto the feeling, clinging to it to keep the dark thoughts at bay.

He knew he should be behaving better, after all Duncan had told him many times that any of them could die in their battles against the darkspawn. It wasn't fair to leave everything to Ceri, even though she seemed glad to shoulder the burden. He just wanted to wipe that sad, stoic look from her face, wanted her to go back to being the laughing girl he'd chased for stealing a piece of cheese. But she hadn't been a Grey Warden then, had she? She'd taken everything so seriously after the Joining, even though she'd been afraid and even though she had no clue how to fight, still she'd led them through the tower and encouraged them onward with nothing more than her blind faith in their abilities. She'd killed an ogre to protect him. Now _that _thought allowed him a moment's respite from his misery. Oh, he'd stabbed it a few times afterwards but really he'd just been hurrying the process along, the beast had been dying as it crashed to the floor with the iron bolt buried in its head.

_You must keep her safe, Alistair. She is your responsibility._

Duncan's words echoed in his ears, drawing him back to that last morning in Ostagar. He had checked on Ceri and finding her still asleep, had settled down by the fire to eat the bread and cheese he'd scrounged from the cooks. Duncan had joined him then and after a moment's silence had told him a little of Ceri's background. Alistair had listened with a growing sense that they had done her a great disservice by putting her through the Joining. She was an innocent with no martial training and up to that point, no prospect of ever needing it. He'd hated the accusation in his voice when he asked how she was supposed to survive the battle when she was obviously unprepared but Duncan either didn't notice or chose to ignore it. His dark eyes had been sad when he'd met Alistair's angry gaze and he'd sighed as he glanced at the small tent. Then he'd given Alistair that simple instruction: _you must keep her safe_.

Except how could he do that? Weighed down by grief and sorrow as he was, what use would he be to her? He had to pull himself together he knew, but each time he tried to put the misery aside it attacked once more, pulling him deeper into the mire. It was Ceri's voice, high and sharp with annoyance that drew him from his bleak reverie.

"Why don't you do it then? Honestly, Morrigan, you don't want to spend your entire life in a swamp, right? So go do what you want to do."

"What of your quest? You truly believe you will make it through the Wilds without my help?" If he hadn't felt so numb Alistair would have taken great satisfaction in running the skinny bitch through. "Especially as your doltish friend could walk into a nest of darkspawn right now and not notice."

"So take us to Lothering first then. Once we're there you don't have to stick with us. Simple."

"I believe Mother would disagree," Morrigan sniffed.

"And how is she going to find out?" Ceri demanded. "Is she psychic or something?"

Alistair actually found himself willing Morrigan to listen to Ceri. Despite the enormity of the task ahead of them, he'd feel much better without the witch following them. Maybe it was his templar training, old habits from a Chantry upbringing or maybe it was just the fact that he didn't like her smug, know-it-all attitude but he'd be far happier with her a continent or two away.

"Go find your mountains, or the ocean or whatever you want," Ceri continued. "Even if Flemeth does find out, what is she going to do about it? What _can_ she do with a whole country between you?"

Morrigan was quiet for a long time, so long in fact that Alistair glanced up in the hope that she'd finally given in and gone. His heart sank when he saw her standing a few feet ahead, one long finger tapping her pursed lips. When she spoke he shuddered at the deadly undertone in her mocking voice.

"I have decided 'twill be amusing to travel with you for a time, Ceridwen. I wish to see how far this madness of yours extends."

xoxox

Ceri shifted in her blanket, trying to squeeze every last ounce of warmth she could from it. Flemeth had been generous, providing blankets, food, medicines and packs to carry them in. Still Ceri had been wary of the malicious gleam in the old woman's eyes and she'd checked everything carefully as she'd packed it before realising that if anything was poisoned or cursed she was probably the last person in Ferelden who'd know. After a day of walking through the freezing mists of the wilds she'd been only too happy to curl up in one of the blankets, in front of the fire that Morrigan had coaxed into life from the soggy wood littering the ground. She hadn't even cared about the credentials of the dried meat that the scowling witch unearthed from her pack, wolfing it down with an appetite that surprised her. She didn't usually eat much, but since she'd woken up that morning it had felt like she'd been fasting for a month. The trek through the Wilds had given her something to think about beside her rumbling stomach but as soon as they'd stopped it had let out the loudest, most embarrassing gurgle she'd ever heard. When the food she'd been given was gone, Ceri looked around hopefully for more but Morrigan was busy doing something witchy around the perimeter of their small camp. Then she noticed Alistair staring into the flames, his share of the bread and meat sitting unnoticed on the grass next to him. Apparently he hadn't gotten any further than removing his armour, not if the abandoned blanket nearby was any indication. Ceri pulled her blanket tighter around herself and lay down to sleep, determined that she wouldn't give in to the insistent voice urging her to pinch Alistair's share since he obviously didn't want it.

Sleep didn't come easily. The night was cold despite the roaring fire, which Morrigan had piled high before settling down in her own blankets. Ceri, still not used to sleeping on the ground, fidgeted as the cold seeped into her body. She hated being cold, that was why she had a feather duvet on her bed even in the summer. She'd toyed with the idea of taking off the leather armour but was unsure if it wouldn't leave her colder than she was already. A muffled sound from behind her drew her attention. Sitting up she glanced around, looking for the source of the noise. Morrigan was a dark unmoving lump on the far side of the fire. Alistair was still sitting nearby but now his head was down on drawn up knees. Ceri saw his shoulders heave as quiet sobs began to escape him. She hesitated, not knowing how best to help. She knew what her instincts were telling her: no-one should be left to cry alone, not even a boyish man who was far more grown-up than she was. But he was trying to be quiet, he didn't want anyone to know he was crying. He was probably really embarrassed by it; no boy wanted to be caught crying, especially not by a girl. She was still trying to decide what to do when she realised that she was already moving, dragging her blanket with her to wrap it around his shoulders.

Kneeling beside him, she rubbed his back in gentle circles as she murmured soothing nonsense, trying to calm him enough to stop those heart-rending sobs. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on her. A quick mental calculation suggested it was no more than six days since she had sat in the camp at Ostagar sobbing with Wynne holding her hand and trying to calm her. Resting her forehead against his shoulder she continued to hold him, feeling each hitching breath and trembling sob like it was her own. She lost track of time as she knelt there but eventually the sobs trailed off into miserable sniffles and he turned his head to peer at her from one bloodshot eye.

"Sorry," he mumbled, his voice rough.

"What for?" Ceri straightened with a groan as cramped muscles protested. "It's not against the law to have feelings you know."

He gave a derisive snort as she shifted to sit next to him and she saw him glance over to where Morrigan slept.

"She has feelings, she just doesn't show them very well." Ceri nudged him as he snorted again. "You'll wake her up if you keep on like that. Then you'll really be for it."

"Anything but that," Alistair muttered but there was no heat in his voice. He sighed and picking up the food lying nearby, began to eat. After a moment he offered a lump of the bread to Ceri and she took it eagerly.

"Thanks," she said around her mouthful. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm starving."

"It's the taint," he replied as if that explained everything. "After my Joining I'd end up sneaking down to the kitchens every night to steal food. About a month later, I snuck down there one night and found Duncan waiting for me. He said if I was hungry I only had to ask. The cooks always left the kitchens unlocked in case the Wardens needed food."

He trailed off, staring into the flames once more. Ceri hesitated for a moment then held out her hand. He stared at it like she was offering him a live snake then blushed as he laced his fingers through hers.

"Do you want to talk about Duncan?" she asked quietly. "It might make you feel a bit better."

"You don't have to do that," he replied, his voice tight with suppressed emotion, "you didn't know him."

"That doesn't mean anything," she countered. "He was kind and he looked after me until you took over babysitting duty. I liked him, even though he scared me. But that doesn't really matter does it? If you want to talk, I'm here and I'll listen for as long as you need me to."

He was silent for a long while, then hesitantly began to speak. Ceri listened while he told her how Duncan had recruited him, saving him from a miserable existence as a Templar. Privately she thought that being a templar must be pretty high on the list of jobs to steer clear of, if putting yourself in the way of getting munched by darkspawn on a daily basis was the preferable option. Once he'd started, the words kept flowing. He spoke of the other Warden, how their days hadn't been all killing darkspawn and worrying about the Blight. Well maybe their days had been but their nights weren't too far removed from those Ceri spent out in the clubs with her friends. Except she'd never ended up dead drunk under the table because of a bet, as Alistair told her he and most of the other Wardens had one night. His laughter had stopped abruptly half-way through describing how Duncan reacted when he found them all passed out from one end of the hall to the other. His throat worked and he swiped at the fresh tears running down his cheeks. Ceri was surprised when he released her hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders in a tight hug.

"Thank you," he said with a watery smile, "really, thank you. It feels good to talk about it."

"That's what I'm here for," she replied, leaning into him. "To solve problems and give hugs to the forlorn and needy."

"Can I ask you something?" His eyes were serious as he looked down at her. "Duncan told me some of what happened to your family. Will you tell me about them?"

Ceri blinked, avoiding his gaze as she tried to find the right words.

_Come on girl, _her mental voice screamed, _just tell him the truth. He wants to know. Tell him about the game. Tell him about the real world. At least tell him about Kisa and Merrill and the others._

She'd waited too long. He pulled the blanket from his shoulders and draped it around her before grabbing his own blanket from where it still lay on the ground. With a half smile he wrapped himself in it and lay down, head pillowed on one arm.

"It's ok," he said, closing his eyes, "you don't have to. It's none of my business anyway."

xoxox

Next morning both Wardens sighed with relief when Morrigan announced they were clear of the Wilds. Alistair had seemed brighter when he'd woken and although he was still quiet Ceri was hopeful that there would be no repeat of last night's drama. Their path through the Wilds had brought them north of the ruins at Ostagar and Ceri for one was grateful for it. After the tales the witch had been spinning for her on their trek she had no desire to see the devastation left behind by the darkspawn. They struck out to the east, following a path that would eventually intersect with the Imperial highway. This in turn would bring them to Lothering, the village where Morrigan hoped to gather information to aid their quest. Ceri trudged in Alistair's wake, yawning and stumbling as she tried to keep up. She had been unable to sleep after Alistair had settled down and had spent the night cursing her stupidity. No, not stupidity, it was cowardice plain and simple. She was afraid of what he'd do if he found out she wasn't _the _Ceridwen Cousland Duncan took from Highever. Afraid he wouldn't want anything more to do with her, afraid he would leave her here all alone. With Khan gone Ceri knew there was no way she'd survive here on her own. She'd only survived the battle in the tower through sheer luck. She couldn't count on that again. Then there was the question of food and money. Well money at least wouldn't be a problem, not with the pouch of coins hidden at the bottom of her leather bag.

Investigating she'd found ten or so silver coins the size of an old two shilling piece and three times that number of tiny gold coins. These were the size of her thumbnail and embossed with an exquisitely detailed crown. She might be a simple modern girl but it didn't take a genius to work out that thirty gold coins was probably a lot of money. Having thirty pounds in a purse might be alright at home, where it wasn't really much money but without knowing the value of the gold coins it was impossible to say whether that many was going to be a problem. It probably wasn't sensible to leave them running around loose like that. Using her knife to cut pieces from one of the bandages, she carefully wrapped the gold coins into sets of five. She placed the tiny bundles in the bottom of the bag under the small knife then put the two gold coins that were left back into the pouch with the silver coins. That was better. Now if she had to pay for anything it would look like she only had a little money.

Ceri yawned again and increased her pace to catch up to her companions. The last thing she needed was to fall behind and be forgotten. While Alistair was more alert than he'd been the previous day he still wasn't quite with it either. As for Morrigan she might just leave Ceri behind on principle. One good thing about feeling so tired was that it dulled the sting of the empty space on her left side. She'd grown so used to having Khan there, the mabari's constant unquestioning devotion a bright point in the nightmare of the last week. As though her thoughts had summoned it a faint barking reached her ears. Ceri turned, rubbing gritty eyes as she peered back the way they'd come. Just as she'd decided that she was imagining things the sound came again. It was definitely a mabari's bark.

It occurred to her that one of the hounds in camp might have survived the battle and was now desperately searching for its master. The image of a bear-like mabari, perhaps injured itself, crawling across the battlefield in search of a beloved master was too much for her. Ceri let out a shrill whistle that pierced the heavy air with ease and drew sharp looks of surprise and annoyance from her companions.

"What's up?" Alistair asked. His voice was quiet but at least he'd lost that disturbing blank expression.

"I think one of the mabari survived," she said, "I can hear it barking. I think it's looking for its master."

Without waiting for his reply she turned back to the road and whistled again. The barking came again, louder, closer and more certain. It was no longer a _'Where are you?'_, now it was an emphatic _'Wait for me!'_ A hundred yards away the road curved off to the left. The barking grew louder and around the corner barrelled a mabari, all dark brindled fur and raw energy. Its mouth was open in a canine grin of utter delight, tongue lolling as it charged toward them. As it drew closer Ceri could see the black patch over one eye.

She didn't have time to do more than let out a startled squeak before the massive head collided with her midriff and she was sprawled full length on the dusty road. He towered over her, washing her face with desperate enthusiasm while the ecstatic wagging of his stumpy tail seemed to start at the tip of his nose.

_Where have you __**been?**_ He grasped her arm in his mouth and pulled until she was sitting up, before inspecting her all over for damage. _I've been looking for you __**everywhere!**_

"Oh joy, your mangy beast survived," Morrigan sniffed, her tone suggesting this wasn't a good thing. "I presume it will be accompanying us?"

Ceri tried to speak but Khan was busy washing her face for a second time, stopping every so often to express his delight at finding her in a series of barks and growls. Alistair crouched beside them to scratch the mabari's ears, letting out a cry of surprise as Khan decided that he needed to be washed and inspected too. Morrigan huffed in annoyance as Alistair began to laugh and she walked a short way down the road before turning to glare at them.

"When you are ready to continue perhaps you would be so good as to let me know?" she added in a snippy little voice.

Khan was distracted from sniffing Ceri's pack in search of food by the comment. He looked round, seeming to spot the witch for the first time. He gave a soft bark and trotted over to Morrigan, sitting obediently at her feet and gazing up at her with adoring liquid eyes.

"Do not think I am taken in by your brainless worship, hound," Morrigan snapped as Khan leaned forward and gave the back of her hand a tiny lick. "Away with you."

Khan gave a conversational bark and licked her hand again before dashing back to Ceri, now back on her feet and brushing dust from her leathers. As Khan settled into place at her left hand she felt like her birthday and Christmas had come all at once. Alistair grinned at her, mirroring the happy smile that had settled on her lips.

"Was that a pig I saw flapping past?" he asked, eyes twinkling. "It looked to me like Morrigan's made a friend."

Whatever she'd been about to say in reply was lost in Khan's frantic barking. The almost forgotten itch under Ceri's skin suddenly erupted into a bright tingling burn all down her back. She jerked as the sensation took her by surprise, a gasp of shock escaping her. Spinning round she saw half a dozen darkspawn come charging round the bend in the road Khan had appeared from. When they saw the group they howled in fury and charged. Alistair shoved her to one side and with the instruction to keep out of the way, drew his sword and lunged at the nearest monster. A bolt of blue-white light shrieked past him, reducing one of the darkspawn to drifting sooty ash. Ceri's eyes went wide as she looked round to find Morrigan wreathed in crackling electricity, a fierce expression on her face. She raised her hands and more lightening flew at the darkspawn. An arrow zipped past Ceri's ear and as she ducked to avoid any more she spotted the archer. It was one of the short dumpy darkspawn, standing twenty feet behind the battle. Her eyes fixed on its weapon, an ugly crude affair but evidently capable of doing its job.

"I _want_ that bow," she growled.

The first indication she had that Khan had heard her was when the mabari charged the archer with a howl worthy of Cerberus. The darkspawn didn't stand a chance. Khan trotted back to his mistress carrying the bow in his mouth, his tail wagging happily. She looked round in time to see Alistair behead the last of his opponents in a wash of black blood. Inspecting the bow she found it was even uglier up close, but found to her surprise that she could draw it with ease, despite it being twice the size of her old weapon.

"You know, most dogs fetch sticks," Alistair called cheerfully, wiping the dark viscous blood from his sword. "I think you must have the only dog in Ferelden that fetches darkspawn."

"Yep, that's me," she replied with a bitter grimace, "the useless freak whose dog fetches monsters."

Morrigan chose that moment to make a catty remark about the improvement in Alistair's mood but Ceri ignored the bickering that followed in favour of looting the fallen archer's body. Covering her nose and mouth with one hand in a vain attempt to block the stink of corruption and decay billowing up as she moved the corpse, she quickly transferred the arrows to her own quiver. She swallowed bile and tried not to think about the ragged gaping hole where its throat should be. Letting the body fall back to its original position she turned to find Alistair and Morrigan squared up to each other, arguing fiercely.

"Play nicely, children or I'll take your sandpit away," Ceri said as she stepped between them.

"But we don't have a sandpit," Alistair protested.

Morrigan snorted in contempt but said nothing.

"Well you can't say I didn't warn you." Ceri shook her head and set off along the road, Khan falling into place at her side. "How far is it Morrigan? I'm getting hungry again."

xoxox

"That's it, I'm done. I'm not moving another inch."

Ceri flopped down onto the soft grass, pulling the pack and quiver from her back, setting them aside with her bow. Beyond her frowning companions she could see the village of Lothering. Pretty as a painting Alistair had called it, although she was fairly certain he was being sarcastic. It might have been a pretty village once but now it was packed with refugees, desperate hopeless folk camping on the churned and trampled ground between the Imperial highway and the clustered buildings of the village proper. Templars resplendent in their burnished armour patrolled the makeshift camp while more of their brethren stood guard around a large building at the centre of the village. The area where Ceri had stated her refusal to continue was past the refugee camp but still within the boundary of Lothering itself. From her position she could see people hurrying back and forth, but the thing that struck her the most was that, apart from the templars there were no soldiers anywhere in the village. Wherever the survivors from Ostagar had gone, they were obviously not interested in helping these people away from the darkspawn.

"We need to find out what's going on," Alistair told her, frowning as she curled up on her side with her head pillowed on Khan's shoulder. "And we need supplies."

"Ok," Ceri said, closing her eyes and waving a hand in his general direction, "you go do that. Enjoy yourself. I'll still be here."

She heard an irritated grumble and a swishing of skirts that told her Morrigan for one had lost interest and wandered off to do whatever it was she did when bored. There was silence for a moment then a shadow fell across her, blocking the sun. Ceri opened her eyes to find Alistair crouching beside her.

"What's wrong?" he asked. He half reached for her hand then caught himself. "Are you alright?"

"I'm shattered," she replied, covering a yawn. "I was up all night and walking all day. I just want to lay in the sun for a bit and relax. You can do the whole talk to people and find out what's going on thing, can't you? Pretty please?"

His eyes crinkled as he smiled at her and Ceri found herself wishing he'd smile like that more often.

"I could probably manage," he conceded, "but I need money. Being a Grey Warden doesn't pay well, you know."

"Here," she said, rummaging in her bag and pulling out the purse. "Will you see if you can find some fruit? I really fancy an apple right now."

He nodded and touched her shoulder lightly before rising to his feet. Ceri watched him for a moment then closed her eyes, falling into a light doze as the sun soaked into her bones. She tried to block out the noises around her: people talking in desperate whispers, children crying, voices tinged with pain and hopelessness. Every so often she would hear footsteps approach but each time they retreated when Khan rumbled a warning. Once she even heard the clanking of plate armour and opening her eyes she saw one of the patrolling templars standing nearby. From his posture he seemed to be studying her but it was impossible to tell for sure with his face hidden by the heavy helmet. After a moment he resumed his patrol and Ceri slipped back into her doze.

She was brought to a rude awakening when Khan's low rumble became a fully fledged growl and the mabari surged to his feet, dumping her head on the springy grass. Ceri sat up, blinking in confusion at four tall figures standing between her and the rest of the village. With the sun behind them she could only make out that they were wearing armour, but not the heavy plate of templars. Soldiers then, strange in a village with no soldiers. Her heart sank as her nerves began to scream of trouble in the offing, just as they did when Mateo was working himself up to throw the mother of all tantrums.

"Well, look what we have here men," one said. Squinting, Ceri could see that his armour looked in better condition than the others. "It looks like we've been blessed."

"Didn't we spend all morning asking about a girl by this very description, Commander?" another put in. "And everyone said they hadn't seen her?"

"It seems we were lied to," the 'Commander' replied.

Ceri got to her feet, eyes darting about looking for an escape. They were all heavily armed and she knew that Khan would never be able to take out four men at once. She felt fear bloom, dark and heavy in her chest, suddenly regretting her decision to stay here alone. It only reinforced the knowledge that she wasn't safe on her own. A pale shape flitted into view, darting behind Khan to wrap an arm about Ceri's shoulders.

"There you are my dear," a low sweet voice said. "I've been searching for you _everywhere_."

The newcomer was female with coppery hair cut in a neat bob, a roundish face, large blue eyes and a generous mouth. She was wearing a cream and gold robe emblazoned with a design of a rising sun on the yoke. Ceri glanced down to where the woman's free hand was hidden in the folds of her robe and caught the glint of metal. She was armed.

"You stay out of this, Sister," the commander growled, "or you'll get the same as this traitor."

"Traitor?" The word emerged as a strangled squeak. She couldn't believe she'd heard that correctly. How was she a traitor? Was surviving a battle a crime in this stupid country?

"Don't try to deny it. The Grey Wardens betrayed and murdered King Cailan at Ostagar. The Teyrn saw through their deceit and saved our lives."

The woman gave a bright tinkling laugh.

"Grey Warden? Such nonsense. My sweet child, what _have_ you been telling people?" Her accent was strong and Ceri had to process the words a couple of times to reassure herself that, yes, the woman _was_ apparently French. "Gentlemen, I fear you are mistaken. This is no Grey Warden. She is my niece, come from Denerim with her brother to fetch me home."

Ceri could almost see the wheels in the man's mind turning. He didn't believe the tale, that was obvious but he was trying to decide if he could get away with attacking them with so many people about. Wait, he'd called the woman 'Sister'. Didn't that mean like a nun or something? When Alistair had told her about his life as a templar he had mentioned 'sisters' and a 'revered mother' hadn't he? That meant this woman was something to do with the Chantry. She wondered if the man was actually more worried that he'd catch it from the patrolling templars for attacking a Chantry Sister than for taking a Grey Warden into custody. The woman clearly felt the same because she changed her grip on Ceri, pushing her back until she was as far from the men as she could be.

"It was worth trying, I suppose," she murmured, drawing a long knife from the folds of her robe. "Do not take this personally gentlemen. The Maker has plans for this young woman and, regrettably you do not figure in them."

"Kill the Sister and take the Warden into custody," the commander began. Whatever he'd been about to say next was cut off in a blast of freezing white light. When it cleared there was a man sized block of ice where he'd been standing.

"'Tis just as I said Alistair," Morrigan's sharp voice came from behind the men. "I cannot fathom why you objected to my obtaining this staff."

"I _objected_ because you _stole_ it from that merchant's wagon while he was arguing with one of the Sisters," Alistair growled as he moved to flank the stunned soldiers. "Didn't your mother teach you anything about taking things that don't belong to you?"

"Of course she did," Morrigan sneered. "She taught me the most valuable lesson of all: Do not get caught."

The three surviving soldiers looked around, fear plain on their faces. Suddenly realising they were leaderless and outnumbered their lives became far more important to them than fulfilling their orders. Khan lunged at them as they bolted, barging into the block of ice that had been their leader and sending it crashing to the ground. Ceri caught a glimpse of deep red and dull white within the shattered remains before she gulped and turned away.

"Good dog," Morrigan murmured.

Glancing over her shoulder, Ceri saw the witch scratch Khan's ears, then jerk her hand away when she realised she was being observed. Ceri stifled a chuckle. It seemed that Morrigan was no more immune to the mabari's charms than anyone else, no matter what she'd been telling herself. She focussed on the witch's new acquisition so she didn't have to think about the pile of frozen pieces that had been talking not five minutes ago. It looked like it had been made from the same wood as Ceri's lost bow, bound at the top with silver wire and leaving bluish-white echoes in the air as Morrigan shifted it. She noticed that Alistair was making a point of not looking at either Morrigan or her new toy and she wondered if it was disapproval or just the fact that the ghostly after-images were making him feel queasy too. He caught her gaze and gave a sheepish half smile.

"And to think I used to be the trouble maker," he commented, beginning to smile properly. "Am I going to have to take you back to apologise in every town we visit?"

"And I'm supposed to be apologising for what now?" she demanded, shrugging her pack into place. "I didn't start it."

"You are not to blame," the red-haired woman assured her. "They blindly followed their master's orders and it led them to ruin."

"This is Leliana," Alistair added, "she's a sister in the Chantry here. She wanted to meet you."

"I am a lay-sister actually," Leliana corrected him gently.

"Why did you want to meet me?" Ceri asked, feeling worried. "What's Alistair been saying?"

"Nothing bad, I assure you." Leliana's smile faltered and she seemed to be searching for the right words. "This is going to sound strange but all I ask is that you hear me out."

"Strange?" Ceri was shocked by the bitter laugh that escaped her. "This last week has been so far beyond strange that it's just not funny anymore. Whatever you've got to tell me couldn't possibly surprise me at this point."

"I had a vision and I believe it to mean the Maker wishes me to aid you in your quest."

Ceri's eyes went wide and she stared in disbelief as Leliana gave an embarrassed shrug.

"Okay, I take it back. That _is_ weird."

* * *

**A/N - **Hi everyone, sorry for the wait (I know I _always_ say that :) ) but I hope the chapter is worth it. I'd originally wanted to deal with the whole of Lothering (Leli and Sten etc) in one chapter but it was getting longer and longer so I decided to stop at Leli's revelation - it felt like a good place to take a breather. The actual part in Lothering has been giving me hell and several times over the last week or so I've toyed with the idea of just deleting the whole thing and starting from a day or so later with Leli and Sten already in the party. Except that I wanted to explore Ceri's reaction to Sten's literal answers to questions ("Why are you in that cage?", "I am a prisoner", "Well duh!"). Another problem was that I have very detailed notes for the encounter with Loghain's soldiers but when I started writing it Leli went completely off-script - I begged and cajoled but she wouldn't cooperate until I let her have her own way - go figure (_*shrug_*).

Thank you to everyone who reviewed - your praise and encouragement are greatly appreciated :)

**P.S.** I've made a tiny change to chapter 6 - I'd forgotten that the two griffins back to back is the Warden Commander's crest and the symbol of the Grey Wardens is just a single griffin (as I realised while playing Awakenings when King Alistair turned up with Duncan's shield equipped). I know it's probably not that important but it was niggling at me so I decided to fix it anyway :)


	9. Understanding

**Chapter 9 – Understanding**

"More crazy? I thought we were all full up?"

Ceri ignored Alistair as she studied Leliana's anxious face. True, it did sound a bit weird that she'd had a bad dream and decided to attribute it to whatever god they worshipped here but then who was Ceri to judge? She'd gone to sleep in her own bed and woken up in the middle of a war. In a world that only existed in a computer game, no less. Compared to that, Leliana's dream was perfectly plausible.

"I promise I will be useful," Leliana added, turning pleading blue eyes on Ceri. "I can fight. I can do more than fight."

"Well you're already one up on me then," Ceri replied with a shrug. "I can't even do that."

"A woman must know how to defend herself." Leliana seemed shocked by the frank admission. Then she brightened. "I will teach you. I know many skills that will only take time and practise for you to learn."

"I think time is something we're going to have plenty of," Alistair put in with a grin. "It's going to be a long walk from here to everywhere we need to go."

"Are you _sure _you want to come with us?" Ceri asked, torn between wanting to accept any help that might make their impossible quest easier and not wanting another death on her conscience. "_I_ wouldn't in your shoes."

"These shoes? Bah! All they are good for is wading through darkspawn." Leliana scowled at the ugly brown boots peeking out from the hem of her robe. "Fereldan footwear is so... _gauche_. But to answer your question: yes I am sure I want to join you, if you will have me."

"Have you got any stuff to bring with you?" Ceri's brow wrinkled as she looked at the snowy robe Leliana was wearing. It didn't look like it could fend off a light breeze let alone anything more deadly. "Don't you need armour or something?"

"You mean the Maker's grace won't protect me from harm?" Leliana asked with wide-eyed innocence. "Oh dear. How fortunate I wore these today."

She opened the robe to reveal blood red leathers beneath, similar to Ceri's but far more elegant. They were held together with straps and buckles instead of laces and fitted her curved frame like a second skin. Next to the polished leathers the rough boots looked even more out of place than they had under the white robe.

"Those boots look terrible," Ceri said without thinking. "They don't match."

"I know," Leliana scowled at her feet again. "I have _my_ boots in my bag. I could not wear them without arousing suspicion."

She took the pack Alistair handed her with a smile and turned back to Ceri.

"Shall we move on then? I believe it would be as well to leave before those men gather up courage to return."

xoxox

Past the edges of the refugee camp was a wide stretch of open ground, trampled into mud like the rest of the village. However there was nowhere else in Lothering that had a rusting iron cage set off the ground on heavy piles. Ceri could see a hunched figure inside, knees drawn up, head bowed and as they approached she could hear strange words spoken in a deep resonant voice. There was a rhythm and cadence to the words that sounded like the meditation chants Kisa tried to teach her once. She blinked several times, trying to take in the scene, trying to think around the burning fury that was welling up in her head. There were no footprints in the mud here, no-one had been near the cage recently or appeared to care enough to check on the prisoner with the darkspawn so close. Of course it was always possible the villagers were hoping the darkspawn would come along and finish the job for them.

"What is that?" she demanded, pointing at the cage with a shaking finger.

"They say he killed an entire family," Leliana whispered, "even the children. The Revered Mother said it might be kinder to execute him but she wouldn't take the guilt on her soul."

"No not him, the cage." Ceri turned on Alistair, desperate not to believe the evidence before her. "Please tell me that you don't stick people in cages and forget about them."

"Not usually," he replied, looking past her at the prisoner. She could see that he'd gone a little green around the gills.

Ignoring Leliana's protests she walked up to the cage. The man within paid her no attention, or so it seemed. Either way the rhythmic chanting never faltered.

"Uh, excuse me?" she began, flinching as the man's head came up and she was transfixed by piercing lilac eyes.

He said nothing, just looked her up and down with those disconcerting eyes. Although he didn't appear to be old his hair was a brilliant snowy white, braided close to his head and dappled with flecks of reddish brown. His face looked like it had been carved from granite, with a broad forehead, strong cheekbones and a square stubborn jaw.

"I will not entertain you, human." The voice took her by surprise. She already knew it was deep but there was no malice in the tone despite his situation. "Leave me."

"I wasn't trying to be rude or anything," Ceri protested, absently scratching Khan's ears when the mabari whined. "I just wondered why they've left you in there."

"Perhaps they have forgotten me. Perhaps they only wish to forget. It does not matter."

"But how long have you been in there?"

"Twenty days."

"You _what_?" The anger that had been simmering below the surface boiled over. She swung round on her companions, grey eyes snapping like thunder clouds. "Three weeks? Is that what they call justice around here? Lock some poor bastard up and forget about him? Wait for him to starve to death?"

"The Revered Mother said she would leave it to the will of the Maker," Leliana faltered. "This does not seem right though, no matter what he has done."

"Did you kill those people?" Ceri turned back to the man, wondering why someone who had supposedly killed eight or more people in cold blood would look so sad.

"Does it matter?" He sighed when her grey eyes didn't waver. "It is as she says."

She ignored the conversation that broke out behind her as she considered the man. He had been put in a cage three weeks ago and left to starve to death. Even if he had killed all those people, and he'd made no attempt to deny it, did that mean he deserved this treatment? Ceri had never really thought about how people were treated in prisons or whether those committing the worst crimes should be executed, but right now all her instincts were screaming that this was no better than what the man was accused of. How could anyone believe that _this_ was justice?

He watched her with that strange expression in his lilac eyes. It felt like he was weighing her up and wasn't impressed.

"No-one has been near here for ages," she pointed out. "Would they even notice if you weren't in there?"

"I killed eight humans on a farmstead," he said as if that explained everything.

"Big deal," Ceri retorted. "I spent my college money on something that I only got an hour's fun out of."

It sounded stupid and frivolous even to her. It certainly didn't compare to killing people, but then what had she been doing in the week since she'd got here? She'd lost track of the number of darkspawn she'd killed in the Wilds and the tower of Ishal, mostly because she was trying to forget the feeling of reeking flesh giving way beneath her blades. She met the impassive stare but no matter how hard she looked she couldn't see a murderer, just a strange looking man giving off an appalling aura of sadness.

"So that's it, then? You're just going to sit quietly in your cage and wait?" She was shocked by the bitter sting that had crept into her voice.

"My death will be my atonement," he replied. His eyes never left hers but she could hear the dismissive note in his voice and it infuriated her.

"No, no, no, I'm not having that," she snapped, rubbing her temples. Her head was beginning to pound again, whether from sheer fury or frustration with his stubborn attitude, she couldn't quite decide. "There's been too many people dropping dead on me this last week. You don't get to throw one more life onto a big pile of wasted lives and call it atonement."

"Then what does your wisdom say is equal to my crime?" he enquired, putting emphasis on 'wisdom' in a way that suggested he doubted she possessed any such thing.

"We're going to stop the Blight. You come with me and you pay back the way you're meant to: you protect people." Ceri said, ignoring the fact that she'd tried to dissuade Leliana from joining them not ten minutes before. "You might save a hundred lives before the darkspawn get to you and you'll never forget the people you killed _but_ there'll be a hundred people walking around who won't stand a chance if you just sit here and give up."

She looked over her shoulder at her friends.

"Did that make sense?"

"Well you lost me somewhere around the middle," Alistair grinned, "but on the whole, yes."

Leliana looked happier and even Morrigan had a small approving smile on her lips.

"Cool." A quick examination revealed that the lock was made of the same rusty iron as the rest of the cage. A memory stirred, some obscure programme from years ago about why men had started using steel instead of iron. "Morrigan could you freeze the lock like you froze that soldier?"

"I _could_," the witch said with a note of curiosity in her voice. "To what end?"

"Iron's not very strong, not compared to steel," Ceri told her, "and it goes brittle in the cold weather. If we freeze the lock cold enough and hit it hard it should shatter."

"Surely there is no need for that," Leliana gasped. "If we go to the Revered Mother and explain our need she might agree to release him to your custody."

"And come back with a lighter purse than before?" Alistair demanded. "Not liking _that_ plan. The Chantry has picked my pocket once today as it is."

"I'm with you on that one," Ceri agreed. "It might be your pocket but it's _my_ purse. Anyway, leaving someone to starve to death is just sick. On you go Morrigan."

Morrigan sniggered quietly as she pressed the tip of her new staff into the keyhole. With pursed lips and brow furrowed in concentration she twisted the staff with one sharp movement. White frost bloomed on the dark metal and began to spread, thickening as it went. When the creeping tendrils had grown to the witch's satisfaction she nodded and stepped away. Alistair had used the time to find a heavy stone nearby and now he smashed it against the lock. There was a dull crash and rusty shards spun away leaving a hole where the lock had been. Ceri pulled the door open with a satisfied smile.

"Nice," she said, inspecting the ruined lock. Turning to the still seated prisoner she frowned. "Come on. We need to get going before someone takes it into their head to check if you're still breathing."

Ceri bristled as he sighed and rolled his eyes, before swinging his legs over the edge of the cage and rising to his full height. Her irritation at his superior attitude was swamped by the realisation that he was more than a foot taller than Alistair, leaving her sullen glare firmly fixed on his stomach.

"Bloody hell," she exclaimed without thinking. "What on earth did your mother feed you?"

"I am Sten of the Beresaad, the vanguard of the Qunari peoples." he replied in the same flat tone he'd used before, the one that sounded like he thought she was really thick.

"Charmed, I'm sure," she said, stepping back so she could see his face without her neck hurting so much. "I'm Ceri and this is Alistair. The lady who ruined your cage is Morrigan and the worried looking lady is Leliana."

Khan gave a small injured whimper.

"I'm sorry darling, I didn't mean to ignore you," she added as she scrubbed his ears in apology. "This is Khan."

Sten grunted in acknowledgement but didn't say anything. Ceri shrugged and turned to Alistair.

"Shall we go?"

xoxox

Alistair sat by the fire and considered his chances of getting a third bowl of stew. It had been rather good actually, for all Morrigan's bitter complaints about having to cook and he was hungry enough not to worry that the bitch-witch might have poisoned it just for fun. He couldn't fathom how Ceri could like Morrigan enough to go and eat with her, let alone remain afterward to talk with the sullen woman. They were sitting far enough away that he couldn't hear what they were saying but every so often Ceri would laugh or make some exclamation of surprise. Alistair felt a twinge of jealousy that he couldn't quite account for. He knew they needed help in this impossible task they'd taken on themselves, of course they did. Apart from anything else someone needed to begin teaching Ceri the basics of hand to hand fighting and while he was more than willing, he was also only too aware of his potential to hurt her without meaning to. Leliana could teach Ceri a style of fighting that would maximise the advantage of her tiny frame and it would serve her better than the sword and shield techniques that he knew. But _why_ was Ceri spending so much time with Morrigan? And _why_ had she spent an hour trying to get Sten to open up to her after giving him the apples that Alistair had found for _her_?

It struck Alistair then that maybe he was jealous because between helping Morrigan cook, talking to Sten, brushing Khan and beginning her lessons with Leliana, Ceri hadn't yet spent any time with _him_. Which was ridiculous when you thought about it.

_It's not like she's obligated to spend any time with you at all_, he told himself as he watched her laugh at something Morrigan had said. _You're probably the last person she wants to talk to, you'd only remind her of all the bad things that have happened to her since the Joining._

He dragged his eyes away from the small tableau to take in the rest of the camp. Sten was standing watch with Khan at his side. It was strange but after growling at each other for some time the qunari and the hound appeared to have made friends. Ceri had watched them white-faced, no doubt expecting one or other of them to attack and her laugh of relief when Sten began talking to the dog in a normal tone of voice had been shrill as a result. Alistair had his reservations about trusting the qunari given that he'd killed so many people but Ceri had listened to his halting objection then asked why it made a difference when they'd been killing things for the last week as well? He hadn't been able to come up with an answer that didn't sound childish or stupid and was forced to concede that she might have a point. Leliana was sitting a little way off tuning the small lute she had brought with her. Her head came up and she watched Ceri leave Morrigan's fire to join the two dwarves fussing over the large wagon at the edge of the camp.

That had come as a surprise to Alistair. Their trip west from Lothering hadn't been uneventful. They'd encountered several bands of darkspawn, one of which was attacking a dwarven merchant and his son. A merchant who had been enthusiastic in his gratitude, opening his stock to them for anything they might require. He'd recovered from the shock of the attack with remarkable speed, or perhaps not given the dwarven love of gold. He'd introduced himself as Bodahn Feddic, gently prompting his son Sandal to thank the 'nice people' for rescuing them. The younger dwarf had obeyed but the vacant expression and sing-song way he spoke made Alistair think there was something not quite right about him. He sounded a little like a templar who had been on lyrium too long, like he wasn't quite 'in' the world around him. Still Ceri had greeted them both cheerfully, either not noticing or choosing to ignore Sandal's strange manner. She had asked if Bodahn had any equipment suitable for Sten and the qunari was soon garbed in sturdy chain and had a two-handed great sword sheathed on his back. The dwarf had studied the mismatched group for a while then questioned their setting off into the wilderness unprepared.

Ceri had blushed and stammered, saying they'd started out in a rush before rallying and asking what the dwarf thought they should take. It turned out Bodahn was thinking of tents, something Alistair heartily approved of Ceri digging into her rapidly shrinking purse to buy. Each tent was neatly packed in its own canvas sack, easy enough to carry but burdensome if a fight loomed. Then Ceri had done something that made Alistair believe she might just be the smartest girl he'd ever met: she asked the merchants to join them. Bodahn had demurred at first, saying that travelling with Grey Wardens would be too exciting for him and his son but had quickly changed his mind when Alistair pointed out that with the darkspawn numbers increasing it would be even more dangerous to travel alone. So their party had grown a little larger but they were able to move more quickly as the tents and supplies were conveyed in the ox-drawn wagon.

"...and then the unicorn asked if it could stay to tea so I said yes."

Unicorn? What the..? He looked round to find Ceri sitting at his side, an innocent expression on her face. She studied him for a moment then smiled.

"There you are," she giggled, "I knew the unicorn would get your attention. You know I was calling you for five minutes and you were just sitting there looking blank. What were you worrying about?"

"I wasn't worrying," he replied, "I was thinking."

"I wouldn't do that," Ceri said, settling herself into a more comfortable position. "It's painful. What were you thinking about?"

"Where we're going to go next," he said with a frown.

"Hmm, good point. Well, where are we going next then? And more importantly, do you have a map?"

"I do have a map as it happens," he said with a smirk. "But the question is will you be able to use it?"

"Hey!" She shoved him hard enough to make him wobble, if not fall over. "Sexist. Girls can read maps you know."

"Even girls who can't tell left from right?" The smirk widened at her wounded expression, then he patted her arm in consolation. "I heard you telling Leliana. Is that why you kept having trouble with Daveth's instructions?"

"Pretty much, yes," she replied. "My brain just freezes up when someone says left or right. Leli says she'll think of something to help. Probably means she'll draw a great big L and R on my hands."

"If it's any consolation, I have trouble getting my boots on the right feet some mornings," he said, wondering why he was admitting it.

"Oh that's nothing," Ceri smiled at him and Alistair felt his heart lift a little. "I've worn clothes inside out all day and not noticed. Anyway, where will we be heading next O Glorious Leader?"

"Leader?" Alistair was embarrassed to hear the squeak in his voice, no matter how he tried to conceal it. "Uh, really? Because with all this _wonderful_ organising you've been doing I thought you were the leader. I've been following you anyway."

"Lead? Me? I don't think so." He was surprised by the fear that flitted across her pale face. "After what happened in the Tower I wouldn't trust me to lead us to lunch. Besides, _I_ was following _you_."

"Oh that's brilliant." Alistair couldn't help himself. The laughter welled up and overflowed. He suddenly understood how Ceri had felt in Ostagar just after they'd met, when she'd laughed until tears ran down her face. "You're following me and I'm following you. It's a miracle we've not been going round in circles."

"So what are we going to do?"Ceri asked, still looking worried. "I can't lead, really I can't. Everyone wound up dead the last time I tried."

"But you've been doing a really good job of it since then," he pointed out. "You've found us more help and a tame merchant who is willing to carry supplies _and_ give us a discount. How did you manage that, by the way?"

"Bodahn said something about things he'd 'found' so I asked him about it." Her hands began to twist together, over and over, as she turned worried eyes on him. "He sort of takes things from people who are dead and sells them. He said that he'd be likely to get lots of things if he stuck with us because death follows Grey Wardens. I wasn't keen on the idea but I thought it would make our job a bit easier. Was that wrong?"

"I don't like it either," he smiled weakly at her, "but I like being cold, wet and hungry even less. I guess those people won't need their weapons, will they? Not if the darkspawn got to them first."

"I keep telling myself that," she admitted. "Maybe I'll start believing it eventually."

"But you still say you're not in charge?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Duncan said you were brave and really smart, that you'd make a good leader."

"Stop saying that," she cried, tears welling up in her eyes. "Duncan made a mistake, he must have done because I'm none of those things. I've been terrified the whole time I've been here, I can't fight and everywhere I go people keep dropping dead. Half the time because of something I've done."

"Duncan would not have recruited you unless he believed you were exactly what the Grey Wardens needed," Alistair told her firmly.

Then he remembered what Duncan had told him about Ceri's family being murdered and that being a Grey Warden would give her protection if the murderer decided to try again. But he wouldn't have only recruited her to protect her, that wasn't Duncan's way. He must have seen something in the girl that was useful or he would have found her a safe haven elsewhere.

"I think he made a mistake," Ceri ventured in a tiny voice. "I think he saw something in me that just isn't there. If you put me in charge, everything will go horribly wrong Alistair, it always does."

His chest felt tight and heavy, like a leaden weight was sitting where his heart should be. A thrill of panic rose from that cold lump, winding around his throat and strangling his voice. It was like she could read his thoughts, voicing the dark fears lurking in the back of his mind. Doubt, insecurity and fear of failure whirled around in his head, magnified by the guilt he still felt at surviving when his friends, his _brothers_ lay dead and rotting in the ruins of Ostagar. Cold fingers twining through his own snapped him back to his surroundings. Ceri was holding his hand, her grey eyes dark with fear and pain.

"Don't look like that, please," she begged, rubbing his hand to warm it. "I know it's all my fault everything went wrong."

"It wasn't your fault," he grated, squeezing her hand in return. "It was Loghain."

"What if it wasn't though?" she asked. "What if he had no choice?"

"You mean what if it was our fault?" he said, the words sticking in his throat. "What if _we _got a whole army killed?"

"It took us so long to get to the beacon, because of all the darkspawn." She was whispering now, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye like she was afraid of him. "What if I... we were too slow and the signal came too late for Loghain to make a difference in the battle? What if he did what he did to save as many lives as possible?"

"Then why tell everyone that we betrayed the king? Why pay people to kill us?"

"Maybe that's the way he sees it." Her shoulders slumped as he pulled his hand away. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to make you angry. It's just, we can't go jumping to conclusions you know? Maybe Loghain felt he had no choice. Maybe he went mad. Or maybe he got so tired of all that boundless enthusiasm that he thought he was doing the world a favour."

"That's not funny," Alistair growled, half turning away.

Of all the stupid things to say. All the more stupid because if she'd said it a week ago he'd probably have laughed and agreed with her. But that was before. Before his life was swept away on a tide of blood and treachery. Now what would have seemed like a funny, if sick joke, just seemed _sick_. But then she didn't know, did she? Ceri had no way of knowing what was so obvious to him and venting his anger with Loghain at her wasn't going to help anyone. He let out the breath he'd been holding and touched her arm gently.

"I wasn't laughing," she said, not raising her head. "I was just saying that there might be any number of explanations, which could all be wrong. Even if we asked Loghain, he might not tell us the truth. That's if he didn't have us killed on the spot."

"I know," he murmured, "and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you. Blame it on my upbringing."

"Why?" That seemed to have got her attention. Although her head was still down on her knees, she had at least turned so she was looking at him.

"Well, you see, I was raised by dogs," he said, trying to keep his voice serious. "Giant flying dogs."

"Of course you were," she chuckled, giving him a half-hearted shove, "and I was raised by a super-intelligent shade of the colour blue."

"That sounds like fun," Alistair laughed, letting the anger drain away without much reluctance. She was the only friend he had left, his fellow warden, his sister. To let anger and hatred drive a wedge between them would be letting Loghain destroy even more than he had at Ostagar.

"About as much fun as being raised by dogs," Ceri agreed. "So what are we going to do next? Which of those treaty things do we start with?"

"I was going to suggest that we go to Arl Eamon first," he said, "but now I'm not so sure."

"What happened to change your mind?"

"I met someone I knew in Lothering, one of the Arl's knights. He said the Arl is sick, and the Arlessa has sent all the knights off to search for a cure." Alistair tried to keep the tremble out of his voice and failed miserably. "My mother was a servant in Redcliffe Castle and when she died Arl Eamon took me in."

"What about your dad?" Ceri asked with a frown.

"I'm a bastard," he said, preparing for the inevitable response as he continued, "and before you make a clever comment, I mean the fatherless kind."

Ceri's eyes went wide for a moment, then she buried her face against her knees once more. Unfortunately she wasn't quick enough to muffle the snort of laughter that escaped her. Alistair was glad it was dark, that she couldn't see the blush creeping up his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she stammered through her giggles, "I shouldn't laugh, it's not funny. It's just the way you said it, honestly."

"No, no, it's fine," he replied, an air of wounded pride creeping into his voice. "I'm used to it."

"You're not the only one who doesn't have a dad, you know." The giggles ceased abruptly. "I don't know who mine was. Mum wouldn't tell me."

"Really?" Alistair was torn between wanting to encourage her to keep talking and wary of scaring her off when she was starting to open up.

"Mm-hmm. It used to really upset her when I asked so eventually I stopped." Ceri shook her head. "It doesn't matter anyway. I had Mum and my friends, I never really missed him."

"Did you ever find out why it upset her?"

"I figured it was cuz he dumped her," she said with a shrug, "probably when he found out about me. It really doesn't bother me anymore, you know? Who needs a dad like that?"

"Who indeed?" Alistair nodded, a little awed by her matter-of-fact attitude. _What must it be like not to care that your father deserted you before you were even born?_

"You still with me?" Ceri nudged him to get his attention. "If you want to go to Redcliffe then we will."

"But if the Arl's sick," he began, breaking off when his voice failed him.

"You're worried about him," she said, patting his arm again, "and you want to find out if he's ok. It's fine."

"Are you sure you aren't in charge?" he asked, only half joking.

"Oh for god's sake, not this again. Does it really matter?" she countered. "It's not like we even have an army yet. Why don't we just muddle through like we've been doing and see where we end up? Discuss things like proper adults do."

"What if we can't agree on something?" he asked, ignoring the 'proper adults' comment.

"I dunno. What about a pillow fight?" Something about the earnest look on her face warmed him, chasing away the fears that were rearing their ugly heads again. "Come on, we'll work something out. You know far more about fighting than me, right?"

"Well, yes but you can make people do what you want," he replied. That had impressed him more than he could say, the way she'd got Morrigan to cook with the minimum of effort despite the witch's complaints.

"I've got it," she said brightly. "How about you show me how to do all that planning and strategy and stuff and I'll show you how to get people to get along. Or at least how to get them not to kill each other for the time being."

"Do you think that'll work?"

"Course it will." She was about to say more when she grimaced in pain and doubled over, arms wrapped tight over her stomach.

"What's wrong?" Alistair asked, feeling a surge of panic. His first thought was that Morrigan _had _poisoned the food after all.

"It's nothing," Ceri grated, managing to sit upright for a moment before collapsing in on herself once more. "It's just cramp. I probably ate too fast."

"Are you sure?" She'd been sitting with Morrigan for so long. Was it possible the witch had done something to her while they'd been talking?

"I'm fine, really. It surprised me that's all." He could hear the pain in her voice no matter how much she was trying to disguise it. "I mean I only usually feel like this when..."

He was surprised when she trailed off, lips forming silent words as she counted on her fingers.

"Oh no." Even in the half-light from the fire he could see how pale she'd gone, her eyes wide and dark. "Oh please god, no. Not now."

"What? What is it?" he demanded. Whatever it was, it must be bad. The last time he'd seen her look this scared was when they'd faced the ogre in the Tower of Ishal.

"Nothing," she snapped, fear making her voice sharp. She softened when she saw his concern. "Nothing you want to know about, believe me. I need to talk to Leli."

"Ceri, I'm your friend ," he began, before adding, "at least I hope I am. If you need help you can tell me."

"Seriously, Alistair, you _don't_ want to know." She pushed herself to her feet, using him as support until she could stand firm. "Let's just say it's a girl thing and leave it at that. Please?"

He nodded, unsure what else to do as he watched her scurry over to Leliana, who set aside her lute as Ceri approached. Blue eyes went wide with concern as the girl began to speak rapidly, gesturing to her stomach and grimacing in pain. Leliana listened carefully then nodded, dragging her pack closer and rummaging inside. A girl thing? Maybe she was right. Maybe he didn't _want_ to know.

* * *

**A/N** - Poor Ceri, it really isn't her week is it? Hi everyone - yes I am still here and TBR is gradually expanding. I've been using the summer hols to rebuild my buffer of chapters - I started out with three on hand but that fell by the wayside really quickly. I've actually just finished Chapter 10 but won't be putting it up straight away, not until Chapter 11 is done. I've managed to get into a routine with my writing that fits in with my working day - I have an hour's train journey into London every day so I write my notes in the morning and type them up on the way home. It seems to be working rather well at the moment - Chapter 10 has taken me a week to write rather than a month.

Of course getting the new DLC hasn't helped in the least - I took two days out to play Golems of Amgarrak (and seriously freaked myself out by playing it after midnight with the lights off - not a good move!).

Just a quick note for chapter 10 - I've taken the general premise for The Stone Prisoner and adapted it freely for the purpose of Ceri's story as following the game step by step is rather boring, don't you think? It won't be the last time I play fast and loose with the facts either but when I do I hope it will still feel right and that you will still enjoy my version of the Human Noble's story.


	10. Rock and a Hard Place

**Chapter 10 – Rock and a Hard Place**

"Maybe it's broken?"

Ceri turned the silver rod over and inspected it closely, testing the decorative rings for movement.

_Hmm,_ she mused, _what's the betting __**this**__ is the reason that he wanted shot of it?_

_ooo_

'He' was a trader they'd met on the road, another victim of a darkspawn attack. As thanks for them driving off his attackers he had presented Ceri with the silver rod and told her that it was for controlling a golem. Actually he'd said 'gollum', forcing Ceri to stifle her giggles at the mental image of a twisted frog-like creature fondling the rod to the sibilant litany of 'my precious'. Once she'd established that he actually meant a construct of metal or stone that would obey the command of anyone possessing the control rod, she'd been rather more inclined toward the 'gift'. Especially when Leliana had mentioned that the dwarves had invented the golems centuries ago to help them fight the darkspawn down in their underground kingdom. Although she was making quick progress in her combat training, she was still only learning what Leli termed 'drill' – performing the same patterns over and over to fix them in her mind. She wasn't able to put the different attacks and blocks together yet to use in a proper fight, although Leli promised that would come with time. So far, when they encountered darkspawn Ceri found the best help she could be was to find higher ground and pick off the more troublesome monsters with her bow. It was her job to watch their backs Leliana had said, echoing Alistair's advice from the Wilds, to support the group by stopping any attempts to flank or surround them. Unfortunately Ceri tended to get so focussed on watching over her friends that she often forgot to watch her own back. She was just grateful that Morrigan always seemed to have half an eye on her, frying or freezing any darkspawn that decided taking out the archer was the way to go. Even so there had been several occasions when her friends had ended up nursing wounds earned from guarding her. Having a protector who couldn't be injured was an attractive notion.

As it turned out though, collecting the golem was a problem in and of itself. After a few pointed questions the trader had reluctantly admitted that the golem hadn't come with the rod when he'd bought it, rather it was in a village nearby that had been overrun by darkspawn. As he'd found out when he'd tried to go and collect it. Taking the reluctant view that discretion was the better part of valour he'd decided to write off the money he'd invested in the rod, feeling that his life was probably more important. Unfortunately, by the time he realised this he had already penetrated too deep into lands occupied by darkspawn and had attracted their attention in his ill-concealed attempts to escape. It was at this point that the party had found him huddled under the wagon-bed after driving off his attackers, where he was desperately trying to pretend that he was anything other than a tasty darkspawn snack.

Sten had complained about diverting from their straight course but had been somewhat mollified when Ceri had pointed out that they were still working against the Blight by freeing the village of darkspawn. And the village of Honnleath wasn't so far off their route to Redcliffe – after studying their map for a while Alistair declared it would only take them a day out of their way. As they waded through ever increasing numbers of darkspawn Ceri began to grow used to the sparkling tingle that erupted under her skin every time the monsters drew close. From the way Alistair explained it the taint in their blood let them sort of tap into the darkspawn 'group mind', allowing them to sense the monsters. Unfortunately that meant that the darkspawn could also sense them and the more intelligent the darkspawn the more likely they were to be followed. What had come as even more of a surprise was the fact that she could sense Alistair's presence in a similar way. She'd spent an evening amusing herself by testing the limit of this new skill. At least she'd found it amusing, Alistair on the other hand had seemed pretty exasperated after an hour or so.

"Can't you go and annoy someone else?" he'd demanded, batting away her outstretched hand as she brought it close to his face. "Stop that!"

"It tickles," Ceri replied with an unrepentant grin. "The darkspawn, they sting my skin when they're near. But you're more sort of _warm_."

He'd blushed so hard at that she'd been convinced his face was going to catch fire. At least embarrassment had achieved what annoyance could not when Ceri decided to stop teasing him. She was tactile by nature and she was finding it a great strain to resist the urge to touch Alistair in the same way she might one of her old friends. She had already noticed how much he blushed when she forgot herself and leaned against him to doze after supper each night. And there were days when she just wanted to throw her arms around his neck and hug him, to chase the lingering sadness from his eyes even though she knew very well it would probably freak him out.

_ooo_

"Are you sure you're doing it right?" Alistair asked, leaning over her shoulder to examine the rod.

"I think so," she replied, turning the rod and tapping the golem with both ends just in case. Then she peered closer at the silver, inspecting some bright scratches in the metal. "Are those teeth marks? Khan, have you been chewing on this?"

The mabari whined softly, looking apologetic before fixing Alistair with a pointed stare. Ceri followed the hound's gaze and frowned.

"You were playing _fetch_ with it?" she demanded. He scuffed one foot in the dirt but didn't deny the charge. "I guess we know what's wrong with it then. Being thrown and chewed on isn't good for most things."

"Are you finished?" Sten rumbled behind her. "The archdemon will not wait for your childish fascination to run its course."

"Grump," Ceri muttered to Alistair who concealed a grin. She raised her voice. "Honestly Sten, are all your lot so grouchy? Would it cheer you up if we find you some more darkspawn to kill?"

"That would depend on how far you intend to drag us from our path to find them."

Ceri glared up at him, struggling against the irrational urge to find something to stand on. It was depressing that the best she could do was look him firmly in the navel. Sometimes she wondered if her height was not more of a handicap in Sten's eyes than her relative inexperience. Biting her tongue, if only to keep from sticking it out at him, she glanced at Morrigan and Leliana. Both women were examining the golem in minute detail.

"Well I guess if there are no more darkspawn here we'd better push on to Redcliffe before Sten gets even grumpier," Ceri sighed. "Shame though. I really wanted the golem."

"There are more," Alistair told her, pointing off to one of the shattered buildings. "Over that way and underground. At least, I think so."

"Oh jolly good." She managed to get a flounce out of her ragged hair as she turned her back on the scowling qunari. "After you, fearless leader."

"Look, we discussed this," Alistair muttered as he set off. "It's Tuesday. You're the fearless leader on Tuesdays."

"I am? I thought I was the fearless leader on Thursdays?" She frowned as a scabby green head poked up above the top of a broken wall. Notching an arrow and letting it fly she continued. "Isn't Tuesday 'Ritual Dismemberment Day'?"

"No, Wednesday is 'Ritual Dismemberment Day'," he replied, cutting down a hurlock archer that had sighted on Morrigan as she threw lightning at a third monster. "Tuesday is 'Alistair Gets the Day Off' day."

"As opposed to 'Alistair is sulking like an infant because there is no cheese' day?" Morrigan called.

"That was Friday," Leliana supplied helpfully.

"I'm a total joke to you people, aren't I?" Alistair demanded petulantly. He smashed his shield into the face of the next darkspawn to emerge from the ruins so hard that the creature flipped head over heels.

"Not at all," Leliana demurred as Morrigan said, "Yes."

"What I want to know," Ceri interrupted, trying to stall the impending row, "is how I'm supposed to be any use when I can only sense darkspawn if they're within six feet of me? At that distance I don't need any Grey Warden superpowers. I can _smell _the stupid things!"

xoxox

The building didn't appear to have been a house. Inside there was only a flight of stairs leading down into the ground, the steps slick with the same oily corruption Ceri had noticed in the tower. They led to a small chamber, filled with bookshelves and a large desk smothered in papers. A single door in the far wall was the only exit apart from the stairs and from behind that door they could hear the sounds of more darkspawn.

"Stay here," Alistair told her firmly. "That bow of yours is useless in cramped quarters and it'll be easier if we don't have to worry about you getting hurt."

"Ok," Ceri replied, feeling relieved and annoyed at the same time. "Don't forget to come back and tell me when it's safe and everything."

He nodded, missing the sarcasm and led the others through the door. Khan planted himself beside her and growled softly.

"I know, baby," she muttered, "I don't like being left out either."

It was stupid, she _knew_ it was stupid. She hated killing, loathed the meaty thunk of her arrows striking home. Even more than that she hated the feeling of a steel blade tearing through corrupted flesh. None of the video games she'd played had prepared her for this sort of grim reality, the sounds the creatures made as they died or the stink of fresh blood as it soaked into the already bloodstained earth. In the back of her mind she wished that Alistair had discovered his qualms about her safety earlier, because then he might have told her to stay with Bodahn and wait for them to find the golem without her. But one small childish part of her still felt angry that they were leaving her behind because she was more liability than anything. And yet here she was sitting quietly like a good little girl waiting for them to come back

_If you had an ounce of Merrill's guts you'd walk out and go back to camp,_ a snide voice that sounded rather like Morrigan muttered. _Let them keep their stupid adventure._

Except there was no camp to go back to. Bodahn and Sandal had packed up that morning and continued on the straight road to Redcliffe when the rest of the party had turned aside to Honnleath. They would make camp further on in some defensible spot and wait. Even if she had the nerve to walk out on her friends, Ceri knew she would never find the dwarves before the darkspawn found her.

_And if I keep staying behind how will I ever learn?_ she demanded silently. _If I'm going to survive long enough to find a way home then I have to learn to look after myself. And if that means doing things I hate and things that scare me then so be it. _

Trying to distract herself from the wave of homesickness that welled up in her chest, Ceri turned to the desk and began rummaging through the papers. There was a thick layer of dust over everything, coating her fingers and making her cough as she stirred it up. Under what looked like a drawing of an art nouveau cobweb designed by a colour-blind spider she found a battered leather-bound book. Flicking through she discovered what appeared to be a journal, the pages written in a close crabbed hand, each entry carefully dated. At least she assumed they were dates, but not knowing what year it was here the numbers meant nothing to her. It suddenly occurred to Ceri how lucky she was that she'd appeared in a country where English was the primary language. She'd have been in big trouble if she'd turned up in Orlais. Leli sometimes spoke in her native tongue when she was excited and Ceri's basic grasp of French wasn't enough to be able to follow what she said. She was just grateful she wouldn't have to find out what it would be like being stuck in a country full of people babbling in a foreign `language. She scanned the pages, her eye catching on this entry or that as she worked through the book as quickly as she could.

_...calling them 'mage-killers'...fifteen dead...never imagined...what have I done?_

_...different combination required...crystals too small...Shale behaving oddly..._

_...demon holds the key...lies...affecting Shale..._

_...need information__...must be a way__...must ensure truth..._

_...could mage-killers hold the key...were sent to Redcliffe...Chantry..._

_...demon stronger...Sha__le's behaviour worse...must send__ it back or destroy..._

_...__Dweomer..._

The last word must have been important because the writer had underlined it three times, the last so hard that the page had ripped from the force. It was followed by an intricate drawing of a complex rune. It looked similar to the runes Sandal had so proudly shown her when she'd asked about his ability to enchant weapons. Flicking through the book again she spotted tiny notations in the margins of certain entries. Most of those relating to the demon were marked as were those referring to the mysterious 'mage killers'. After closer inspection she realised they were cross references, evidently the journal's owner had kept a separate workbook detailing his experiments. Ceri searched the desk but there was no sign of anything remotely resembling such a book.

"Figures," she said to Khan, who cocked his head at her with an interrogative whine. "He's methodical enough to write everything down just not enough to keep the two books together. He must have a workroom somewhere else."

She bit her lip, shifting from one foot to the other as she stared at the book in her hand. Its owner was probably a mage, working on the premise that there probably wasn't proper science here. _And _he'd summoned a demon and kept it locked up somewhere. So not only a mage but the worst kind of idiot too: an idiot with an enquiring mind. Just because she lived in a world without magic didn't make her completely clueless when it came to demons and monsters. Ceri had seen enough movies and read enough books to know that keeping demons locked up only led to trouble and sudden death on a grand scale. Who knew what else this prize prat had left running around in his cellar retreat? She tucked the book under her arm and headed for the door, gesturing for Khan to follow her.

"C'mon, baby," she muttered. "We'd better tell the others about this."

xoxox

The winding tunnel was dimly lit by strange crystal growths in the rough walls. After a while the passage widened out into a natural cavern. There were several large wooden barrels set against one wall and a complex tangle of copper and glass nearby. The floor was littered with darkspawn corpses and one of the barrels had been broached in the fight, its dark amber contents mingling with black blood and viscera. Apparently the mage passed the time between meddling with unholy forces and experimenting on eight foot stone golems by knocking up a few kegs of home-brew. Ceri picked her way through the devastation, following the passage as it spiralled deeper into the earth under the village. If she hadn't heard the echoes of bickering voices up ahead she would have known she'd caught up to Alistair at least by the warmth blooming on her skin. Rounding a corner she had the presence of mind to duck as Sten whirled at the sound of her footsteps, sweeping his sword in an arc before him.

"You missed," Ceri said conversationally as she slipped under his arm. "You might want to work on that."

"Vashedan," the qunari growled, sheathing his sword. "You were told to remain behind."

"Yeah, well, what can I say?" Ceri favoured him with an apologetic shrug. "I have a very short attention span and I get bored easily."

"'Tis true," Morrigan added with a smirk. "Be thankful she has not thought to use you as a means to reach those crystals up there."

"One shiny stone, Morrigan. One. _And_ I offered it to you first." Ceri stuck her tongue out at the witch, but Morrigan affected disinterest. She held out the journal to Alistair. "I found this on the desk back there. This guy's been experimenting on the golem but some of the later entries are about a demon he's got locked up down here somewhere. I figured you might want to know about it?"

Alistair nodded and looked at the pages she was showing him. Then he began to chuckle.

"Ceri, this was written twenty years ago," he managed, making a visible effort to reign in his laughter at the hurt look on her face. "I think whatever the problem was, he'll have fixed it by now."

"You think so? Because he sounded rather worried." Ceri mulled it over for a moment then brightened. "Well if it _is_ all sorted then there's no harm in finding his workroom is there? Some of these entries are cross-referenced to another book and it wasn't back there with this one. There might be something in there that will help us get the golem going again."

"You're really set on getting this golem aren't you?"

"You all keep getting hurt because of me," she said, unable to meet his smiling gaze. "Something made of stone can't be hurt. At least, I hope it can't."

"I don't see why we can't keep going," Alistair said, glancing around for approval. "There are no more darkspawn down here. It couldn't hurt to have a quick look, right?"

Leliana was nodding and even Morrigan looked mildly interested, but Sten was glowering at them in the half light.

"If there are no more darkspawn, we have no reason to be here," he rumbled. "Let us be gone."

"You could all go back up if you'd prefer," Ceri pointed out. "I'll just pop down to the end of the tunnel and see what's there. I won't be long."

She'd only taken two steps away from them when her foot caught on a loose stone and she pitched into the tunnel wall. Throwing up her hands to catch herself, Ceri was half blinded by a brilliant wash of light.

"Yeah, great timing Morrigan," she muttered, inspecting her throbbing palms for damage. "How about before I break my neck next time?"

When no answer was forthcoming Ceri looked round, curious to find out why the witch was passing up such a golden opportunity to make a snarky comment.

A shimmering curtain of white light filled the passage behind her, cutting her off from the others. Ceri reached out a shaking hand to touch it, flinching back when it crackled with ominous warning. Squinting against the light she could see Alistair and Morrigan arguing fiercely while Leliana tried to calm them both. No sound penetrated the barrier however and she couldn't see their faces clearly through the shifting light to determine what was being said. A pulse of light over her shoulder caught her eye and Ceri turned to find a series of glowing runes shining on the wall, just at the point where she'd fallen.

"Oh that's fan_tastic_," she cried, just managing to resist kicking the uncaring stones. "Trust a bloody stupid demon-experimenting _prat_ to put in magic fire doors. What am I supposed to do now?"

The argument appeared to be in full swing behind her. Realising that shouting at them would be of no use at all, Ceri picked up the treacherous stone that had gotten her into this whole mess and threw it at the barrier. The light hissed and rippled with the impact and set up buzzing echoes that finally got the quarrellers' attention.

"Pack it in for god's sake," Ceri said, more for the sake of saying something than in the belief that they might hear her.

Alistair was talking fast and from the worried expression on his face Ceri surmised that he was having second thoughts about how safe the workroom might be. What if it were shielded in some way and there were darkspawn down there that he couldn't sense? Or maybe the journal's owner _hadn't_ resolved his demon problem after all and it was still lurking around waiting for some hapless intruder to stumble into its lair.

_Ok, now I'm just scaring myself. _Ceri shivered at the mental image of a gloating demon watching her from the shadows. _Hanging around here isn't going to get us anywhere. I need to find that workbook and hope that Idiot the Wonder Mage remembered to write down how to turn off his nifty little light show._

She turned her back on the barrier, intending to continue the trek into the unknown when a buzzing clang got her attention. Jerking round she saw Morrigan and Alistair glaring at her, their quarrel forgotten for the moment. Well Morrigan was glaring. Alistair, who had apparently hit the barrier with his shield was clutching his left hand to his chest and looking pained.

_Where are you going?_ he mouthed.

"That way," Ceri replied, pointing down the tunnel.

_No. Stay here._ He emphasised his point by stabbing a finger first at her and then at the ground. Behind him she could see Leliana nodding agreement while Morrigan's glare was approaching near arctic temperatures. Khan was pressed as close to the barrier as he could get without actually touching it. His ears were down and he looked as worried and mournful as it is possible for a large dog to look.

"I'll be fine," she said with an airy wave, but she wondered if it wasn't more for her benefit than his.

Not waiting for an answer she hurried away, sticking to the dim pools of light cast by the crystals and definitely not thinking about hungry monsters lurking in the shadows.

xoxox

After walking for what seemed like miles Ceri realised that the light illuminating the tunnel was growing stronger. The rock walls were more clearly defined here and up ahead she could see a rough doorway. Flickering shadows danced and shimmered, clinging to a hunched figure near the door. As she hurried forward it unfolded, revealing a man's dirty and tear-streaked face. He was older than Mateo but not by much, so far as she could judge in the uncertain light.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, kneeling at his side.

"No," he croaked, shaking his head. He clutched at her arm then, his face twisting into an expression of panicked desperation. "My daughter. Please, help my daughter."

Ceri looked around quickly. Apart from the two of them there was no sign of anyone else nearby.

"Where is she?" Ceri asked, her nerves forgotten in an instant. It was odd, she reflected, that she could be scared as hell but it would all go away if she was presented with someone in worse trouble.

"In there," he replied, pointing to the glowing doorway, "my father's workroom. We never knew what he did down here. Experiments, he always said, just experiments. Experiments for the Arl, for the Chantry, experiments on Shale. We never knew."

"Who's Shale?"

"The golem, _his_ golem. You came through the village didn't you? You must have seen it." He shook his head. "We never questioned it. Never dreamed he was summoning demons."

"Hang on," she interrupted, "you're telling me you left your daughter in there with a _demon_? All on her own? Are you insane?"

"I had no choice," he cried, voice cracking with pain and fear. "Do you think I would have left her if I had any other option? It said it would kill Amalia if I didn't leave her."

"But what were the two of you even doing down here? There's darkspawn everywhere."

"We couldn't get out in time," he sobbed. "The first warning we had was when they boiled up out of the ground and started killing people. I saw them drag some of the women back down into the earth and I knew I had to keep Amalia away from them. I know how to work the barrier spells my father set up down here, for all that I'm no mage. I thought we could hide here until they were gone."

"But they followed you," Ceri nodded, "so you came down as deep as you dared?"

"Yes, I thought the workroom would be safe." His eyes were drawn back to the light as though he could see his child by sheer force of will.

"And then you found out about the house guest I take it?" Ceri squared her shoulders, stomping down on the rogue thought insisting that she still had no clue how to deal with a demon. "Let me take a look."

"Be careful," he exclaimed, dragging her back from the doorway. "It lies about everything, that much even I know. It's been trapped down here for years and I'm certain it's trying to escape. My father died twenty years ago and it must have been here for several years before that. It spoke like it knew him well."

She nodded and cautiously approached the narrow doorway. Peeping round the edge, she had little trouble spotting the source of the flickering light. Another barrier glowed and shimmered in the centre of the room, enclosing a circular dais some ten feet in diameter. The shifting light highlighted the rough walls of the room, another natural cavern that had evidently been adapted for use as a workroom. Long wooden benches crowded the walls all covered in papers or twisted contraptions made of glass and metal, many of which looked like they'd been made by a glass-blower with hiccups. A ripple of movement behind the barrier drew her attention. The light cleared and she could see two children sitting on the dais, heads together like they were sharing secrets. One was pretty enough, her sweet round face framed by two thick chestnut pigtails, her clothes plain but serviceable. She bore enough of a resemblance to the panicky man that she must be the missing Amalia. The other girl was, by comparison, a perfect porcelain doll of a child. An abundance of golden curls surrounded a flawless face dominated by a huge pair of deep blue eyes. Her gown was the pinkest, fluffiest creation Ceri had ever seen outside of a candy-floss stall and dainty silver shoes clasped the tiny feet. It took a moment for Ceri to realise that this must be the demon. She'd been expecting a monster, all claws and dripping fangs. It had never occurred to her that it might look, well, normal. How on earth could anyone be scared of such a tiny child? She was so sweet, so _angelic._ It was cruel to keep such a pretty thing locked away under the earth, chained down like some sort of monster. If anyone needed rescuing...

_Are you even listening to yourself? Do you realise how __**thick**__ you're being?_ The angry thought hit her with the force of a slap in the face. _Of course it's beautiful. You don't think they get their own way by being hideous, do you? Remember the old joke: Yesterday we were recruiting._

She shook her head, welcoming the tickling irritation of the taint beneath her skin as it gave her something beside the glowing vision behind the barrier to focus on. Now she could see why the mage had been so intent on finding some way of ensuring truth from the demon, when it could lie with its looks as well as its mouth. She studied the golden girl again, this time with a cynical eye, ignoring the trappings and instead concentrating on how she spoke to her companion. The exchange seemed friendly enough, the dark-haired Amalia smiling and clapping her hands with joy at something that was said. The expression on the demon-child's face however was a sickening combination of smug satisfaction and unholy glee.

_What can I do?_ Ceri thought desperately. _I don't know anything about demons or possessed children. That book didn't really have any pointers in it either._

The book. Now that was an idea. If she wandered in there looking blank and harmless maybe the demon wouldn't see her as a threat, not like the man. Maybe it would think she was just another lost child and ignore her. It might just give her enough leeway to find the elusive workbook and, with a little luck, an explanation of how to get rid of the wretched creature. Ceri fumbled at the ties holding her armour closed, struggling with it until she remembered the bow and quiver and pulled them off before sliding the breastplate free. She piled up her things, placing the dagger, sheaths and bag to one side. The man stared at her in horror, taking in the leather trousers and wool shift.

"What are you doing?" he demanded. "You cannot face it unarmed. It will kill you."

"If I walk in there like I'm looking for a fight that's all I'm going to get," Ceri told him, proud that her voice didn't betray her nerves. "And I haven't got the first clue about fighting demons. This way it might let its guard down, think I'm another child like Amalia. It's got to be worth a try."

_Also at the moment it's smaller than me,_ she added silently. _I certainly don't want to provoke it into growing up._

Something he'd said earlier chose that moment to tap her on the shoulder and make its presence known.

"Hang on, did you say you know how to take the barriers down?" When he nodded she gave a sigh of relief. "Brilliant. I set one of them off by accident on my way down here. My friends are stuck on the other side. Go back up there and let them through. I'll try and distract it until they can come and help."

Without waiting for a reply she retrieved the book and opening it at random entered the room. Without paying any apparent attention to the dais and its occupants, Ceri wandered across the room towards a likely looking workbench.

"Why are you here?"

The voice was sweet and high, a child's voice but there was a deadly undercurrent beneath the sweetness, as though the speaker already knew the answer. Ceri found herself turning before she was even aware of it, almost before she'd made sense of the question. The pink-clad girl was on her feet, tiny hands causing ripples where they pressed against the barrier.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to find the mage's experiment book," Ceri heard herself saying. "I want the golem outside but it won't start."

"Come over here."

To her horror Ceri's feet began to carry her back over to the barrier. It was as though the words had gone straight from her ears to her legs completely bypassing her brain. The demon-child looked her up and down with eyes that held far too much knowledge.

"Why do you want the golem?"

"I need someone to protect me from the darkspawn," Ceri replied, the words once again drawn from her against her will.

That sweet voice with its dark, arrogant tones was worming its way through her and clouding her ability to think clearly. At least she'd managed to bite back the end of the sentence before she could betray her friends. The demon-child laughed merrily.

"And you think Shale will protect you? Oh how very precious." She laughed again and the sound chilled Ceri to the bone. "Do you hear that Amalia? She thinks Shale will protect her. What do you think?"

"That's just silly, Devi," Amalia giggled. "Shale squished Grandpa Wilhelm and he was a mage."

"She did indeed my dear." There was a smugness in the voice now, the blue eyes bright with unholy glee. "Oh how I wish I could have seen the look on his face when he realised his precious golem was going to kill him."

"I guess you didn't like him much?" Ceri asked, trying to gather her wits. "How long have you been down here?"

"Wilhelm summoned me many years ago," the demon replied. "He was looking for a way to prevent demonic possession of mages. He succeeded only in creating a prison to hold me."

The smug satisfaction in her voice was tinged with frustration.

"So why didn't he send you back?" Ceri managed to move away from the barrier just a little, no more than shifting her weight backwards really. But any distance between her and this strange child with her gloating voice and knowing eyes seemed good to her muddled thinking.

"He wanted knowledge, far more than he already possessed. He wanted to know how to make Shale stronger."

"And instead you told him something that sent the golem on a killing spree?" It wouldn't have surprised Ceri. She could picture the tiny angelic creature gloating while the stone giant ran amok.

"Not at all." The demon pouted indignantly. "I answered his question truthfully. By changing the arrangements of the crystal growths on the golem he could manipulate the flow of mana around it and make the golem stronger."

Something in the tone niggled in the back of Ceri's mind. She considered the words as she achieved another half step away from the barrier. _I answered his question._

"He didn't think to ask about consequences did he?" she demanded. "You gave him the exact answer to his exact question and no more."

The silvery laughter echoed through the room.

"Indeed. Poor Wilhelm. He desired knowledge more than anything, you see. Desired it so badly it blinded him to all else." Her laughter ceased abruptly and she sighed as she tested the shimmering barrier with a fingertip. "But that left me trapped down here and the solitude is pure agony. I am so very lonely."

"Don't cry, Devi," Amalia begged, hugging the demon as she sighed again. "I'll try again. I will. We'll get you out somehow."

"The girl tried to release the barrier," the demon said coldly. "She failed."

Ceri shivered at the malice in those words. Amalia however just hugged the demon-child again, promising to try harder if her 'friend' would only give her another chance.

"So you just want to get out then?" Ceri asked. "To go home?"

The smirk which spread across the demon's face at her words turned Ceri's blood to ice. It was looking less like a child with each passing moment. Had it grown taller? Or was it just the too adult, knowing expression on that perfect face? In a way Ceri was glad of the fear blossoming in the pit of her stomach at that moment. It was cutting through the hold the demon had on her mind, allowing her to regain control of her limbs and voice. She eased back two whole steps as she felt a weakening in the weird compulsion binding her.

"Amalia has told me so much about this world that I wish to see it for myself," the demon continued. "Amalia said she would do _anything_ to help me."

"Of course I will, Devi. You're my friend. I love you." Amalia's face was vacant as she clutched the other girl's hand.

"You too have a desire, mortal, a heart's desire," the demon purred, in another lighting change of mood. "Aid me now and you shall not find me ungrateful."

"What do you mean?" Ceri shivered as she met the blue eyes. There was something twisting in their depths, something she was certain she didn't want to see.

"You desire an escape from the duty forced upon you by the whims of others. Peace and safety. Your mother's arms wrapped around you once more. The companionship of friends. True friends who know you for who and what you are, not these chance companions whom fate has thrown in your way." That knowing smirk was back and Ceri felt something like icy fingers rifling through her thoughts, prising them apart for the demon's amusement. The fluting voice grew soft and persuasive. "Release me from this torment and give me the girl. In return I shall give you that which you desire most in all the world."

"And what is that?" Ceri ground out past dry lips.

"A way home."

* * *

**A/N - **Oh dear! Ceri, darling, you'd better watch your step!

Hi everyone - bet you weren't expecting another chapter this quickly? I seem to have this terrible habit of ending on a cliff-hanger (of sorts) but honestly I can't help myself. This felt like the end of the chapter and I really can't argue with that sort of 'feeling' (the chapters go all funny and awkward if I try). This was what I meant by stepping away from a faithful retelling of the story - I mean, honestly, a demon _cat_? I found the idea of another child much more realistic (plus it worked far better from my perspective). There was also the point in the game where Matthias asks you to go after his daughter - why the hell hasn't he gone after her himself? Well according to me, he did. Unfortunately that means I've killed off all the other survivors but given that their village was overrun by darkspawn they didn't have much chance in the long run (at least that's my story and I'm sticking to it).

I'm going to be making some assumptions about demons in the next chapter but all I can ask is that you bear with me - so long as I keep the theories consistant what does it really matter in the long run?

As always thank you for taking the time to read my ramblings - reviews are always appreciated (and are rewarded with a virtual hug and a cookie from Sten's stash)


	11. The Lies We Tell Ourselves

**Chapter 11 – The Lies We Tell Ourselves**

_A way home_

Ceri's heart sped up at the words, pulse beating so hard in her throat that it hurt. Home. She could go home, back to sanity, reality, back to a normal life where people didn't keep dying. Well, where they didn't keep dying because of _her._ She would have proper clothes to wear, clean clothes every day, not dragging the same dusty sweaty things over filthy skin and praying no one noticed how much they, or she, stank. Or worse, pulling damp half clean clothes over skin blue from the cold and rough with goosebumps after bathing in a stream. She thought of hot baths scented with lavender and jasmine, of expensive conditioners to keep her hair smooth and gleaming, not the dull and tangled rat's nest it currently resembled. And food. Decent, proper food that tasted of something other than mush and cinders.

She wondered what day it actually was. Although Alistair had said it was Tuesday, they really had no way of knowing for certain. It had been Friday when she'd bought the game, but that didn't mean it had been Saturday when she'd woken up in Ostagar. Still if it was Tuesday and she went home there would be double psychology tomorrow morning and library duty all afternoon, both of which involved being surrounded by her books. She would have her computer and her consoles back, her movies and her music. Although this world wasn't silent by any means, she had never considered how much noise modern life generated. Without cars and aircraft and machinery, without the music in shops or on the radio, without so many people, the world itself was a pretty quiet place. And the _quiet_ was really starting to get on her nerves. She'd even found herself egging Alistair and Morrigan on in their bickering just to keep it at bay, because in the silence she could hear unpleasant thoughts rattling around her head like peas in a kettle. She'd begun to suspect the hateful things of actually thinking themselves just to spite her. Leliana had noticed how fidgety Ceri became when the silence pressed too loud and she tried to help by filling it with her considerable repertoire. It wasn't that Ceri didn't like the music Leliana played or the songs she sang, but she missed the heavy throbbing beat of the clubs, where the music was a living thing that took control of every heart it touched and drove all thought away.

The more she considered the demon's words the more sense they made. It was true that she wanted nothing more than to sink back into her safe, peaceful life and forget all about this insane nightmare. She would wake up in her own bed and the events of the last few weeks would just be an unhappy memory. No Blight, no Archdemon and no bloody darkspawn. To walk down the street and know that the most dangerous thing she could do would be to step into the road without looking. Hopefully the other Ceridwen would have been smart enough to keep her mouth shut about who she really was, otherwise there would be some very awkward questions to answer. Still how much damage could she have done in three weeks or so? Ceri found that the more she thought about it the less she cared _what_ the other girl had been doing or saying. She just wanted her life back. That wasn't so wrong was it? It was unfair that she was stuck with some other girl's duty when said girl was living it up in comfort and enjoying all Ceri's hard earned luxuries.

But could she really run away and leave her new friends? She'd promised to help Alistair, hadn't she? Backing out of a promise, especially an important one like this wasn't really like her at all. Even as the question rose in her mind an answer was sliding smoothly into place. Surely her friends would want her to take what could be her only chance to go back to her normal life, wouldn't they? Alistair said he was her friend. Wouldn't he want her to do what was best for herself in the long run? Or at least he would if he knew. That was another good reason for leaving: to get out before she gave herself away. No matter how hard she tried Ceri couldn't shake the habits of seventeen years, couldn't help all the modern colloquialisms that crept into her speech. Plus if they were going to wander all over the country it was only a matter of time before they met someone who had known Ceridwen Cousland and then Ceri would be exposed as a fraud. If that happened then it would badly affect their credibility. Who was going to trust a Grey Warden who had lied about her name and origin? If she left then Alistair would stand a better chance of calling in the treaties he had. Although she didn't want to desert him Ceri knew that without her, Alistair would have to take the lead and she was certain the responsibility would do him good.

"Alright," she said aloud. "I'll help you."

"You are most gracious," the demon said with real gratitude, "and you have my thanks."

The strange compulsion that had been controlling her limbs began to ease and Ceri found she was able to turn away from the barrier and its prisoner. She rifled the workbenches quickly, scattering papers in her eager search. On the bench furthest from the barrier she found what she was looking for: a leather-bound book, the twin of the one she had taken from the outer room. As she cleared the surface to lay both books side by side a glint of silver caught her eye. Peeking out from beneath a complex diagram was a wide bracelet, a simple band of silver etched with flowing lines. Ceri ran her thumb over the intricate decoration and smiled, slipping the bracelet onto her wrist. It was not difficult to match the entries in the journal with the related experiments once she had the two books together and she soon found those relating to the construction and maintenance of the barrier spells. Glancing around she noticed the glowing runes on the stone walls, similar to those that had appeared when she had set the outer barrier off by accident. From Wilhelm's notes she discovered that the runes not only acted as the controls for the barrier but its power source as well. She spent a tense moment trying to decipher a footnote scrawled in the bottom corner of the page before she realised that it had been written upside down.

"There's a problem," she said, not looking up. The sharp intake of breath across the room told her louder than words that she had the demon's attention. "Wilhelm was smarter than we thought. He'd allowed for the possibility of you getting help from outside. The barrier spells are keyed to his blood. I won't be able to do anything with them."

"So close," came the soft moan from across the room, "so close."

"Of course there is one possibility," Ceri mused, peering at the note again. "It's possible that Amalia _might_ be able to work the barrier, if I tell her what to do. Let's just hope whatever it was in Wilhelm's blood got passed down to her."

"Of course! How _clever_ of you to think of it." The demon turned to the little girl, smiling down at her benignly. "Amalia dear, go and help our new friend, there's a good girl. Do whatever she tells you."

"Of course, Devi," Amalia chirped.

She passed through the barrier with ease and scampered across the room to stand at Ceri's side.

"Alright sweetheart, we need to find five specific runes," Ceri told her, holding the book down so that Amalia could see. "See these ones? They keep the spell running but they're not important. It's just these five we want."

Amalia bounced with excitement as she studied the symbols Ceri pointed to. Then she scampered off around the room, peering at the glowing lines that burned against the dark walls of the cavern. It wasn't long before she darted back to Ceri, grabbing the older girl's wrist and dragging her across the cavern to a shadowed corner where a single rune shone like a star.

"That's the first one, right?" Amalia stared up at Ceri, her eyes wide. "I found it."

"Well done, Amalia," Ceri said, patting her shoulder. She could feel the girl trembling under her hand. "Calm down, sweetheart. We've still got four to find."

"The last one is by the door," Amalia told her. "I remember because it's all big and complicated."

"That's good, that's two and I can see another one over there."

Although the cavern was quite large it didn't take them long to uncover all five runes. Each one darkened as Amalia pressed her little hand to it, the light dimming for a moment then taking on the deep crimson hue of fresh blood. Approaching the final rune, Ceri slipped the silver bracelet from her wrist. She rolled it around her fingers, watching Amalia reach up to touch the glowing lines. As the white light darkened to red and the demon's exultation echoed through the cavern Ceri grabbed Amalia's hand and slipped the bracelet over it, shoving it up the girl's arm until it passed her elbow and stuck there. The effect was instantaneous: the placid, vacant expression evaporated and Ceri was left with an armful of tense, horrified little girl.

"Run," Ceri growled, shoving her toward the door. "Don't stop until you find your daddy."

Amalia fled as the demon-child bounded from the dais, its roar of fury distorting that perfect face into something feral and inhuman. Covering the distance to the exit faster than Ceri could have imagined the demon leaped into the air, intent on tackling its escaping prey. Blue-white light exploded into life as it reached the doorway and the demon-child was thrown backwards, tumbling over and over in a flurry of pink skirts and bad language.

"Betrayer," it spat at Ceri, struggling to its feet. "What have you done?"

"Wilhelm wasn't as stupid as you thought, was he?" Ceri replied, backing away as the creature stalked toward her. "Looks to me like he fixed the barrier so it can only be disabled from _outside_."

She blinked once and then the demon was in front of her. It wasn't exactly a child anymore; the limbs were longer, less rounded and dear god, its eyes. Ceri tried to avoid the blue gaze, snapping with ice and inhuman rage but her head turned against her will. Clawing fingers closed over her throat and twisted through her hair, holding her with ease.

"You think you're so very clever, don't you, little fool?" The demon's snarl crawled over her skin like the taint, stripping away her will and leaving only pain in its wake. "You have robbed me of my prey and that deserves a special reward. Let's see what other desires you're hiding in that pitiful little mind of yours."

She tried to close her eyes but they remained stubbornly open, fixed on the demon's face, which seemed to expand until it was all Ceri could see. A whimper of pain was torn from her as the claws in her hair tightened, yanking her head back until her neck joints gave a loud crack.

"Why did you release the qunari, little stranger?" the demon purred, its voice honey sweet. The blonde curls began to writhe around its head like Medusa's snakes, the colour darkening to a gleaming purplish black. "There are laws against murder even in the barbaric land you call home and the qunari _is_ a murderer."

"It was cruel," Ceri choked out past the squeezing fingers. "Whatever he did, he didn't deserve to starve to death."

"And how would you know? You did not even ask why he did it." The face, thinner and more adult now, pressed close to hers. "It wasn't very sensible was it?"

"It was disproportionate to his crime." Her whole body felt cold except for where the claws were biting into her throat. In those five points she burned, worse than when she'd taken the Joining.

"Ah, but of course, you would see it like that wouldn't you?" The demon's gloating voice filled her head and Ceri struggled to pull away. She gagged as cool breath, sickly sweet with the stink of corruption ghosted across her face. "In your eyes it would be wrong to imprison someone for the murder of eight when you yourself walk free after murdering thousands. How did you put it? Disproportionate?"

There it was, the crux of the matter. Laid bare by clawing fingers that ripped and pried into her mind, uncovering the thoughts she couldn't bear and the thoughts she wouldn't acknowledge. The thoughts that tormented her in the velvet silence of night, robbing her of sleep as they haunted her dreams. In vain she tried to shake her head, to deny them, but the demon's grasp was iron.

"Liar. Traitor. _Murderer._"

"no." The word emerged as the barest hint of breath and there was no conviction in the denial.

"Oh _yes_. Which do you regret the most I wonder? The soldiers who trusted you with their lives? The mage you ordered to burnt to death perhaps?" Thin lips curled into a cruel smirk. "The _dogs_?"

"You're lying." That came out stronger, but even Ceri could hear the desperation under her own words. It was lying, had to be lying. She hadn't betrayed anyone. She'd tried her best in the tower and it hadn't been enough _but she had tried._

"Why would I lie," the demon asked, its voice oh so reasonable, "when the truth hurts so much more?"

_You got all those people killed,_ a voice in her mind whispered. _You didn't want to be there, didn't want to carry another's duty. You resented the Wardens for leaving you no choice. You wanted them to suffer as you were suffering. You wanted everyone to suffer._

Were those her thoughts or the demon's? She was paralysed by the words twisting through her head, warping the one certainty she had clung to in those dreadful days since she'd woken in Morrigan's bed. They were going to stop the blight, stop the darkspawn, put things back the way they were. Make things better and then maybe she wouldn't keep hearing the screams in her sleep. She felt warmth against her icy skin as the claws tightened and thin trails of blood began to trickle down her throat. She felt the resistance go out of her muscles as the demon pulled her closer, as it twisted her head forward once more.

"Shall I tell you why you loosed a murderer on the world, little one? Why you don't pay attention when your life is in peril? Why you allow your friends to be hurt in your defence?" Cold lips pressed against her cheek hard enough for her to feel the sharp teeth concealed behind them. "You released the qunari because you hoped..."

Whatever it had been about to say was cut off in a strangled, choking scream. The claws tightened around Ceri's throat as the hand spasmed and then she was free to fall to the ground gasping for breath. The demon thrashed and twisted, body jerking like it was being electrocuted and Ceri trembled at the feeling of power surging through the air. It felt like the whole world was being twisted out of shape by some inexorable pressure that sucked at her bones and made her ears pop. The demon gave a bloodcurdling shriek as a blade sprouted from its chest, the polished steel streaked and marred with purple gore. Then there was silence as the body crumbled, disintegrating into sooty ash drifting on the air. Ceri looked up into amber eyes that were blazing with fury.

"Out," Alistair snapped, pointing to the door. "Now."

Ceri nodded, struggling to get her shaking limbs in order. She managed to get to her feet but her knees buckled and she grabbed for the workbench. She heard the steely hiss of the sword being sheathed and then large hands were helping her to stand upright, the familiar warmth a blessed relief against her cold body. She wanted to burrow into his arms, wanted to be cuddled and told that everything was alright. But that wasn't going to happen, was it? He didn't care about her like that, not to mention he was obviously furious with her and with good reason. She'd been incredibly stupid to come in here on her own. As stupid as she had been on insisting on taking Sten along with them. She'd been lucky then, with Alistair willing to accept her judgement of the qunari but it looked like her luck had run out. Because his hands were retreating now that she was steady, now he was sure she wasn't about to pitch over and break her neck. He watched with anger still simmering in his eyes as she gathered up the two books that were, however indirectly, the cause of all this havoc.

Outside Leliana fussed and chided as she helped Ceri back into her discarded armour, shaking her head as she inspected the wounds the demon had inflicted. Alistair wouldn't meet her eyes and Ceri had to bite her lip to keep the tears at bay at his blunt command for them to get moving. He led the way out of the cellars, showing none of his usual diffidence. Khan whimpered and nuzzled at Ceri's hand as he took up his customary post at her side and she reflected that at least someone wasn't angry with her. In the entry chamber they found Sten and Morrigan standing sullen guard over Amalia and her father. The child darted across the room and flung her arms around Ceri's neck, clinging to her and sobbing incoherently. Ceri patted her back and tried to ignore the scalding tears on her chilled skin. It was impossible though and she grew colder, even after Amalia stopped weeping and dried her eyes. The thoughts so long denied would not be still now the demon's interference had given them free reign and Ceri could only follow in wretched silence as Alistair led them back outside.

xoxox

"Maker!"

Alistair shot out of his bedroll like he'd been stung, cursing as he tried the shake the last fragments of the nightmare loose. It had been bad enough when his nightmares revolved around gloating darkspawn gobbling down his carefully hoarded stash of cheese but lately they had warped into visions of Ceri being slaughtered by ever more creative means and always because of some decision that he had made. Tonight had been no different, in fact what he had witnessed in Honnleath seemed to have made the dreams worse. He tried not to think about how it had felt to have the sense of her presence through their shared taint wane and dwindle to nothing as she'd disappeared into the gloom of the tunnel while he'd been trapped behind the damned barrier. Alistair hadn't dared to admit to her how pleased he'd been by her revelation of how he 'felt' to her and now his mood slipped again when he remembered that she hadn't gone near him that night, hadn't dared to since they left Honnleath. She'd eaten with Morrigan and gone straight to bed in the tent she was to share with Leliana, Matthias and Amalia having temporary possession of Ceri's tent after Matthias had begged for them to allow him and his daughter to journey with them to Redcliffe. She'd glanced once at him before slipping inside the tent, her stormy eyes dark and haunted. He'd wanted to call after her, to apologise for being harsh, explain that he'd been scared, but the words wouldn't come. So he had to endure the silence until he'd retreated to his own tent, silence and the new fear that maybe Ceri wouldn't speak to him again.

_And she'd have good reason not to,_ a particularly spiteful thought remarked. _You snapped and snarled and ignored her all the way out here. What was she supposed to think?_

He'd been terrified for her when Matthias had come running back along the tunnel, gasping out his story of a demon on the loose almost before the shimmering barrier had faded in response to his touch on the glowing runes. He'd gotten no further than his name and that of his daughter _and _the matter of the demon before Alistair was pelting down the dark tunnel, shouting an order to Sten and Morrigan to stay with the man, while Leliana and Khan followed like ghosts at his back. Flickering white light had announced the presence of another barrier, attended by the missing child who was sobbing and wringing her little hands in distress. When she saw them, saw Alistair's drawn sword and, no doubt his expression of mingled fear and anger, she'd straightened and slapped her hand against a glowing patch of rock.

"It's hurting her," she'd cried, dragging him toward the doorway. "You've got to help her."

He'd had a moment to be surprised at her strength before his mind fully took in the scene before him. Then his heart twisted in panic. This close he could feel Ceri's fear as a sharp flare in the sparkling heat that was his sense of her through the taint as the demon held her by the throat. He couldn't hear the words but the tone was enough to scare him, sickly sweet and full of deadly mockery. He still wasn't quite sure what he'd done exactly or which part of his Templar training he'd used on the creature. He hadn't even been sure that his training would work on demons but at that point he was desperate enough not to care. As close as he could tell he'd just gathered every ounce of power he could muster and hurled it at the demon in a desperate attack that left the thing twitching and disoriented long enough for him to finish the job with his sword. As it had disintegrated Alistair had gotten his first good look at the state Ceri was in and realised to his horror that she wasn't wearing her armour. Then he saw the thin trails of blood staining the neckline of the tight shift she wore beneath her leathers. Red marks were forming around the punctures in her skin, which was even paler than usual after her ordeal. Her eyes met his and he could feel something besides fear through the taint but he couldn't decipher it at that moment. He opened his mouth to ask if she was alright and anger welled up. How could she be so stupid? Bad enough that she didn't pay attention during a fight but to deliberately walk unarmed into the lair of a demon and expect everything to be alright was sheer lunacy. Hadn't she got any sense of self-preservation? His voice had strangled on the words until all that emerged was the blunt order to get out. He hadn't dared to touch her more than was necessary to ensure she could walk for fear that he would grab her and never let her go. So he'd been stern and businesslike in directing the party, despite his natural aversion to taking charge.

Matthias had agreed to activate the golem for them, revealing that the merchant had been given the wrong instructions, probably by his mother who had sold it after her husband's death. That had been another surprise: far from being a soulless rock blindly following any order it was given, the golem turned out to have a sarcastic streak wider than the Bannorn and a hatred for birds that eclipsed even the darkspawn's hatred of humanity. It had seemed mildly amused by Ceri's overtures toward it, more so when she'd admitted she could think of no reason why Shale, as it turned out to be called, would want to come with them. Still Shale seemed tired of Honnleath, unsurprising considering it had spent the last twenty years frozen on the spot, and had decided to tag along with them until it got bored. Well, _that_ was probably going to take some time considering the way it had been stamping on every bird it got near, starting with the few chickens left in the village. Things had only got worse when they'd made camp for the night. Standing as still as only an eight foot stone statue can, Shale would wait for a bird to settle nearby before slowly moving towards it. At one point it had been stuck in mid-step, one huge foot raised to strike, when Leliana's silvery laugh echoing round the camp startled the bird into flight. The raised foot had crashed down and Shale had somehow managed to look like nothing had happened. Alistair felt sure that if golems could whistle, Shale would have been doing just that as it tried to look nonchalant.

_It's no use,_ he thought miserably. _ I'm never going to get back to sleep now. I might as well go and see if Sten wants to end his watch early._

Donning his armour with the ease of practise, he slid from the tent and glanced around the small camp. Morrigan's small fire was a winking ember in the darkness at the edge of the camp while the main fire crackled and roared. Alistair looked round for Sten but the qunari was not in sight. Shale stood unmoving on the far side of the camp, the white glow in its eye-sockets the only sign that it was active. That was odd. Although the golem hadn't actually made any threats against them it had seemed foolish to let someone, or something, they knew so little about stand guard while the rest of them slept. Alistair for one had no desire to wake up with his head crushed like an unlucky pigeon. They had decided that it would be best for one of them to stand watch with the golem, switching out during the night so they all caught a little sleep. A whisper of movement off to the left caught his attention. Looking round he saw Ceri practising one of the sword drills Leliana had been teaching her. The ruddy glow from the fire couldn't disguise the pallor of her face or the dark circles under her eyes. He swallowed as he caught sight of the bandage around her throat, hiding the puncture wounds from view.

"How long have you been up?"

She flinched at the sound of his voice and he could almost see her shrink in on herself. There was that same haunted look in her eyes, like she expected him to start shouting at her any moment.

"A while," she hedged. "I couldn't sleep so I took over from Sten. I figured if anything happened Shale could hold them off until I could wake you all up."

"I hope it is not counting on that," the golem commented, eyes glowing brighter as they turned on the tiny figure. "I might find more entertainment in watching it get squished."

"It?" Alistair asked Ceri in a low voice.

"She means me," the girl explained. "She thinks she's being funny."

"She?" He looked the golem up and down searching for any visible sign of gender. "Shale is a 'she'? How in the Maker's name can you tell?"

"She said she really liked the crystals Wilhelm had been using on her but she was worried they made her look 'wider'," Ceri told him. "Only girls worry enough to ask if their clothes make them look fat. Besides it doesn't feel right calling someone 'it'."

"Doesn't seem to be stopping Shale," he pointed out.

She gave no answer except for a small shrug and the silence began to stretch uncomfortably between them. Finally Alistair could stand it no longer and screwing up his nerve, he began to fumble his way towards an apology.

"Look, I'm sorry for being so rotten to you today." He found he actually felt lighter for the words being said. "I saw that thing holding you and I just, I don't know, panicked I guess. I thought it was going to kill you."

"It doesn't matter," she replied, beginning her combat pattern again.

"It _does _matter though," he insisted. "Duncan told me to look after you and so far I've been doing a really bad job of it."

"It's hard to look after someone who's so stupid they wouldn't recognise danger if it walked up and bit them." Ceri's shoulders slumped and after a pause she sheathed her blade, walking back to the fire to warm her hands.

"Duncan said you had a sheltered upbringing," Alistair ventured cautiously, knowing she was likely to shut him out as she often did when he mentioned her life before they'd met. "How are you supposed to recognise danger if you've never seen it before? Anyway, you're smart. I bet you never get caught the same way twice."

That drew a wry chuckle from her.

"That's me. Always finding new ways to get myself killed," she sighed.

"What woke you anyway? I bet it was Leliana snoring," he added, trying to lift her mood.

"Bad dreams," Ceri replied. "I didn't want to wake Leli. It's not fair that she should lose sleep as well."

"Damn it, I forgot to warn you." He felt like a fool. It had been on the tip of his tongue to mention it the last time they'd spoken about the abilities that a Grey Warden acquired through the taint. But then she'd started teasing him by brushing her fingers close to his face as she tested what he'd told her and it had gone right out of his head. "You remember what I told you about the darkspawn and their group mind? Well, when you're asleep it's harder to keep out of it. Your defences go down and you just get sucked in."

"Darkspawn dreams." It was not a question. "Makes sense."

"The older wardens say it's possible to learn to block the dreams, to keep yourself from getting caught up with the hoard while you sleep. Some people manage it, I suppose, but others are plagued by the dreams their entire lives." He really didn't want to think about that too much and in an attempt to win a smile from her, he continued on a different tack. "So tell me, which one was it for you? The dream where you're in the front row watching the hoard march? An intimate audience with the archdemon perhaps? Or maybe my own personal favourite: the one where you actually _are_ a darkspawn but you end up losing your pants at a critical moment and the rest of the hoard stands around laughing at you."

"Actually it was the one where I'm cutting a man into little tiny pieces and he won't stop screaming and wriggling while I'm trying to work. Which was really, _really_ annoying because I was supposed to make sure every piece was the same size and shape. I think it was round about that point when I realised my big mistake was starting with his feet." She turned haunted eyes on him and he was shocked to see the glisten of unshed tears in the firelight. "Oh, there was one more thing. I _wasn't _a darkspawn."

"Not a..?"

"Nope. Just me and him and a bunch of knives. You know the scariest part was the fact I was enjoying myself, right up until I woke up." She rubbed at her face, dislodging the tears and smearing both them and dirt across her cheeks. "That wasn't even the worse one I've had either. The darkspawn dreams are quite mild by comparison."

It had never occurred to him that there were worse nightmares than the ones he had about the darkspawn. Oh there were the usual nightmares, being lost and abandoned was always good for a sleepless night, as was the one where he was a full templar and trapped forever in some Maker-forsaken dungeon guarding a bunch of insane malificarum. But they were still ordinary, human nightmares and they could never approach the depth of horror he experienced when the hoard marched through his head in the night. He knew that the other wardens had spoken of the darkspawn nightmares in hushed tones, if they spoke of them at all and that everyone agreed they were the worst dreams anyone could have. But to have nightmares that were worse, dreams that were so horrific that one would actually _prefer_ to dream about the hoard. It stirred a compulsion in him that Alistair had been growing increasingly aware of, as he spent more time with Ceri. At first he'd felt sorry for her, realising how hard she found it to do things that he took for granted. After all, he had been trained to fight and kill but she hadn't. He couldn't even resent her inexperience, for she tried so hard and never complained, even when it was obvious to anyone with eyes that she was tired and heart-sick and so very unhappy. It was one of the first things he'd come to admire about her, beside her good humour and friendly nature, the way she pasted on a smile and kept going even though she couldn't hide the pain in her clear grey eyes. And it was the pain that troubled him, fuelling his need to protect her, the compulsion to wrap her in lambs' wool and keep her safe. Not just because he'd been told to, but because he found himself craving her smiles and laughter. She didn't laugh now, not as she had that first night in Ostagar when they'd battled for the last piece of cheese. Sometimes she would give a sad little chuckle at one of his sillier comments but the smile never really reached her eyes, not anymore. So it had become one of his fondest memories, the one he'd clung to when everything seemed dark and desperate: Ceri squealing and giggling as she evaded his clutching fingers while Duncan laughed heartily at them both.

And no matter how good she was at schooling her expressions she couldn't conceal the revulsion that flared in her eyes each time she killed another darkspawn. To Alistair it was a perfectly natural reaction to facing the twisted monsters. After all he still wasn't used to them and he had been a Grey Warden for much longer than Ceri. But taking what she had just told him into consideration he was faced with one inescapable conclusion: could it be that it was not the darkspawn she hated but herself? Suddenly everything seemed so clear. What was it she'd told Sten? You have to pay back the way you're supposed to? Could this be why she'd been so insistent on freeing Sten, why she'd risked everything to rescue Amalia from that demon? Because she was desperately trying to make up for the lives that she was taking, even if they were darkspawn lives? He looked at her closely, taking in the pale, waxy skin and the dark shadows under her eyes. Now he saw the fine tremors running through her limbs, the way her hands shook as she held them out to the flames. When was the last time she'd slept properly? Alistair knew she was always the first to rise in camp, because when he emerged from his tent Ceri would be tending the fire or preparing tea and breakfast from their meagre supplies. And now he came to think about it, with the exception of this last night she never retired to her tent until everyone else was asleep. At this rate she wouldn't even reach Redcliffe, let alone see out the blight.

_Come on then, genius,_ _what are you going to do about it? _There was a poisonous note to the thought that prodded him. _You'll never make it without her, you know that. So how are you going to fix this?_

That was the problem. He didn't know how to fix it. He'd been relying on Ceri to deal with the little frictions that developed in the small party. She always seemed to know exactly what to do or say to keep everything running smoothly, how to cajole Morrigan into having a little more patience with everyone, to coax Sten into going along with their plans even if she couldn't get him to fully accept the reasoning behind them. If he'd found Leliana or even, Maker help him, Morrigan in this state he would have gone straight to Ceri and asked her to deal with it. But he could hardly ask her to sort herself out could he? Then it struck him, an answer so simple it was amazing he'd not thought of it. He did know what to do to fix this because he'd seen Ceri deal with the problem before. Because the last time she had, he'd been on the receiving end.

"Hey Ceri," he said quietly, crossing the space between them to stand at her back. "I've got something of yours I picked up a few weeks back. You look like you need it back right now."

"Keep it," she murmured, not looking round. "It'll only get ruined if I have it."

"No, I really think you need this more than I do."

Alistair steeled himself and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her back against his chest. He felt her stiffen in shock for a moment, then she sagged against him, her cold little hands clutching at his wrists. She turned in his arms, clinging to him and burying her face against his chest, not seeming to notice his splintmail armour digging into her.

"Everything is going to be alright," he said, stroking her back as she dragged in one great hitching breath after another. She wasn't quite crying but it was clear she wasn't far off it. "We'll be fine, you'll see."

"How can you be so sure?" she choked out. "Right now it doesn't feel like anything will ever be alright again."

"Because in that wagon is a wooden box," he replied, coaxing her to look over to where the dwarves had settled for the night, "and in that box is the best piece of good strong cheddar you will find this side of Orzammar."

"Really?"

"I swear it. That cheese is so strong even the Archdemon would think twice about taking it on." Alistair could have sworn he felt his heart lift when she laughed. Encouraged by her reaction he continued, "I might even consider sharing, but only if you are a very good girl and stop trying to get yourself eaten by every monster that crosses your path."

"Well I guess I could try, if there's cheese in it for me," she said with a giggle. She turned back to him and smiled. "Thank you."

"For what? For that?" Alistair felt the first brush of panic well up and valiantly tried to fight it back down as he let her go. _I'm not doing anything wrong_, he told himself before saying aloud, "It was nothing."

"Not just that. For being my friend and sticking with me even when I'm being whiny or stupid or trying to get myself killed." She stretched up to curl an arm round his neck in a quick hug, brushing a soft kiss on his cheek as she retreated. "I know I wouldn't have made it this far without you."

"Why don't you see if you can get some sleep?" he suggested, hoping his face wasn't as red as it felt. Maker, if his ears got any hotter they really would burst into flame. "I'll take your watch."

She nodded and Alistair found he couldn't take his eyes off her as she struggled out of the leather breastplate before crawling back into her tent. The image stayed with him, long after the canvas flap hid her from view: she had glanced back at him with a smile and for the first time in too long her storm cloud eyes had sparkled. He spent the time until Leliana took over the watch trying to forget how soft and warm she'd felt in his arms, even with the armour between them.

* * *

**A/N**

Hi everyone - I'm sorry it's taken so long to get this chapter up. I've been having some real issues with it and to be honest I'm still not entirely happy with it but I don't think I can improve it further. So I hope you'll forgive any rough patches. With luck the next chapter will be up a bit quicker - I've been looking forward to playing with Bann Teagan for a while now and my chance has finally come. I might even remember to give him back when I'm finished with him.

Big thank you's to everyone who's still reading, hello and welcome to the new readers (especially those who added story alerts on the last chapter) and of course hugs and cookies for those who leave a review.


	12. Revelations

**Chapter 12 – Revelations**

"Hey Ceri!"

Ceri had to stifle a giggle as Morrigan broke off the rather lurid tale of her childhood in the Korcari Wilds to scowl at Alistair as he trotted forward to fall in beside them. The urge to laugh only grew worse as the witch affected disinterest and began examining the scenery with determined nonchalance.

"What's up Alistair?" Ceri asked. She saw with concern that the little crease between his eyebrows was back again. He was worrying about something.

"There was something I wanted to tell you." He drew in a deep breath but Morrigan interrupted before he could continue.

"'Tis your intention to tell her you are an idiot?" she asked, eyes sparkling maliciously. "You may save your breath. She knows."

"Could you crawl into a bush somewhere and die?" Alistair retorted. "That'd be great. Thanks."

The witch sniffed in distain and turned away, but couldn't resist making one last scathing comment.

"Cretin," she muttered under her breath as she stalked off.

"Bitch," Alistair called cheerfully at her retreating back.

"I'd tell them both to behave," Ceri remarked to Khan, who had watched the exchange with interest, "but I know I'd just be wasting my time. What was it you wanted to tell me Alistair?"

"It's nothing bad, at least I hope you won't think it's bad. I just wanted you to hear it from me rather than getting it from someone else later on and thinking I didn't tell you." Misinterpreting her frown as disapproval he began to babble. "I mean, I know I haven't told you yet but I am going to tell you. Right now, in fact."

"Could I have notice of that sentence please? I think you just dislocated my brain." Ceri rubbed her forehead as she tried to sort Alistair's words into some kind of coherent order. "Go on then. What was it you don't not want me to think you weren't not going to tell me?"

"Well, here goes," he said, taking a deep breath. "You remember I told you that my mother was a servant in Redcliffe Castle and when she died the Arl took me in?"

"Ye-es," she replied, drawing the word out. She'd found herself copying some of his more irritating mannerisms the more time they spent together. Still it had the desired effect as he winced and continued hurriedly.

"Well the reason he did that was because my father was King Maric."

It became obvious when he didn't continue that he was waiting for her to comment. By the way he was watching her out of the corner of his eye, it looked like he was waiting for her to explode. She might have laughed at his half panicked expression if she wasn't so confused: Who was King Maric? Was he still around? Did this mean that Alistair was a prince or king or something? And if he was, was it really so big a deal that he apparently expected her to go all Morrigan on him at any moment? In fact there were so many questions jostling around in her head that the only reply possible was a rather uncertain "Mmm-hmm?"

"Mmm-hmm?" he repeated, staring at her in stunned amazement. "Is that the best you can come up with? I tell you that Maric was my father, which by the way means Cailan was my half brother and all you can say is 'mmm-hmm'?"

"Would ok be better?" she asked, struggling to think of something sensible that wouldn't betray the fact she only had the vaguest idea what he was going on about. "I really don't know what you want me to say. None of my friends has ever come up to me before and announced that they're sort of royalty."

"To be honest, I'm not sure what I want you to say myself but I don't want you to think I don't trust you," he admitted.

"Would it help if I was cross with you? Bad, bad Alistair," she admonished, wagging a finger at him, "you should've told me you were a prince."

"I'm _not_ a prince," Alistair exclaimed. "It has always been made _very _clear to me that the throne was _not_ in my future."

"But why not?" she demanded. "If your dad was the king, doesn't that sort of put you in the running now Cailan's gone?"

"Maker's blood _no_!" Ceri was surprised to see the expression of panic that flitted across his face. "Remember the whole bastard conversation? My mother was a servant and I am just an embarrassing inconvenience."

"Not to me you're not," she muttered, nudging him with her elbow, "and I still reckon Prince Alistair has a definite ring to it. Dignified, don't you think?"

"Did I just find the one damn good thing about my birthright?" he asked, only half teasing. "I think I did."

"It doesn't really make a difference does it?" she asked. "Unless you have an army tucked away in your back pocket that I don't know about?"

Grabbing his arm she let him take her weight as she leaned over to inspect his backside. Not that there was much to see with his armour in the way but the implication of the gesture was enough to make him jerk her upright, his face flaming once more.

"Guess not," she giggled, pleased when he swatted at her and called her a brat. She didn't like the tone that had crept into his voice when he called himself an inconvenience. It had the nasty ring of something heard so many times he'd come to believe it, true or not. "What does it matter if your dad was a king, huh? Do kings get to wander all over the country having as much fun as we do?"

"You've got a strange idea of fun, Ceri. Killing darkspawn, getting drenched in the rain, being cold and hungry and tired," he said, ticking the points off on his fingers. "Not to mention suffering the insults of a socially impaired apostate, the contempt of a grouchy qunari and the sarcasm of a walking rock."

"Don't forget having a terminally clueless friend who constantly needs rescuing because she can't keep herself out of trouble," Ceri added. "So we can just put a lid on this, right? The whole royalty thing, totally not important."

"You mean that? You really don't mind?" he demanded, sighing with relief when she nodded. "I'd really appreciate it if you'd forget I ever mentioned this and I can pretend you still think I'm just some idiot who was too lucky to get killed with everyone else."

"Forget you mentioned what?" Ceri grinned. "Were you talking just now?"

"Just commenting on how fine the weather is today," Alistair replied, the frown lines clearing from his forehead. "Shall we move on then? We can't be more than a mile or so from Redcliffe."

She waited until he'd moved ahead before murmuring, "As you command, highness."

His shoulders stiffened and he whipped round to glare at her. Ceri gave him her best 'innocent' face, eyes wide and guileless as she fought the giggles that were welling up in her throat. Alistair snorted and turned his back on her, muttering to himself as he led the way down the road.

"So that is our Alistair's secret," Leliana whispered in her ear. She gave Ceri a conspiratorial nudge. "He is a prince in exile, kept from his birthright by the cruel tyrant who has usurped his throne and the monstrous enemy who threatens his land. It is romantic, no?"

"Oh yes Leli, just like a fairy-tale," Ceri sighed, pressing a wrist to her forehead as though she were about to swoon with excitement. She began to laugh in earnest as Alistair looked back at them then returned to his muttering once more. "Although I think in the stories the lost prince doesn't stomp off in a huff, inventing new swear words as he goes."

xoxox

Redcliffe was impressive, Ceri decided. The village was built in tiers cut into the cliff-face, running down to the shore of what, according to their map was Lake Calenhad. At the upper end of the village a broad stone causeway ran out into the lake to where a massive castle reared up on an island of the same blood coloured stone that gave the village its name.

_There must be iron in the stone,_ she thought to herself, _there just has to be to get that colour._

Alistair would probably know, but he had been ignoring her ever since she and Leli had started teasing about his so-called birthright. Ceri didn't like the sense she was getting off him through the taint either. Instead of the usual bright fizzy feeling, the heat was slower, rolling like water boiling up. She didn't think it meant he was angry because when he got mad at Morrigan the fizz flared up, like opening a shaken up bottle of cola. It was taking some work but she was starting to get the hang of judging Alistair's mood through the taint. What she was feeling from him was closer to how he had felt to her in those first weeks when his misery was still getting the better of him.

She looked ahead to where Alistair was staring across the village to the castle. His shoulders were set as though he was expecting to be hit at any moment. It occurred to Ceri that instead of this being a happy homecoming for him, perhaps there were too many bad memories for him to be comfortable here. She knew the Arl's wife had made his life a misery until he'd been shipped off to a monastery when he was ten. Alistair had mentioned sleeping in the stables and with the dogs as though it were a joke but looking at him now Ceri wondered if there wasn't more truth to his words that she'd believed. Watching him she began to feel terribly guilty for winding him up about the whole prince thing. She picked her way across the rough ground, keeping her eyes on Alistair and the view behind him, rather than the sharp drop not three feet away.

"Are you still cross with me?" she murmured, sliding her hand into his after a moment's hesitation.

Alistair glanced down at her and made an irritated noise but there were the edges of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Are you going to keep tormenting me?" he countered, trying to sound gruff and failing miserably. "Because if you are, you can just go back and walk with Leliana where I don't have to listen."

"I'll behave," she promised, squeezing his hand. "But I really do think it's cool that you're a prince."

"Don't _start_," he growled, but without removing his hand from hers. "I don't need it right now."

"You're really not happy about being here are you?" Ceri asked sympathetically. "We can make it a flying visit if you want. We'll just run down and check on the Arl and be gone before dark."

"I don't think it would help," he admitted, lifting her hand and studying it like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. "While I was in the monastery all I wanted was for someone to come and tell me it was all a big mistake. That I could come home and everything would go back to the way it was. After a couple of months being nagged and scolded by crotchety old priestesses I was even feeling nostalgic for Isolde's bitching. Now I'm actually here, I just want to be anywhere but. I didn't really behave very well when the Arl told me I was being sent away. I called him every bad name I could think of."

"How long did that take?"

"Less than a minute," he chuckled. "I didn't know that many. But then I did something really stupid."

They began to walk again, following the path winding down between the tall cliffs toward the village. Behind them Leliana began to sing, her clear voice carrying on the still air.

"I had an amulet with Andraste's holy symbol on it," Alistair continued, "the only thing I still had of my mother's. I was furious with the Arl for sending me away to begin with and things only got worse when he wouldn't react to what I was saying. He just stood there patiently like he always did and listened to what I had to say. He didn't do or say anything. Looking back I think I wanted him to get angry with me so I could feel justified in hating him. In the end I got so mad I ripped the amulet off and threw it against the wall so it smashed. Stupid, stupid thing to do."

He shook his head sadly, his free hand straying to the cord round his throat that Ceri knew held the same griffin pendant as the one she had tucked into her armour.

"You were only little," she said, trying to think of something to make him feel better.

"He visited a few times after I went to the monastery but I wouldn't see him," Alistair sighed. "After a while he stopped coming. I guess he gave up on me."

"Well if he did then he's not worth feeling bad about." Ceri nodded emphatically when he gave her a 0quizzical look. "Merrill goes into a snit and breaks stuff and tells us she never wants to see us again three times a day. At least. She's still one of my best friends though. You don't give up on people just because they're being bitchy."

"Even if they really are behaving like a bastard?" he asked.

"Especially if they are a ten-year-old kid who's been stuck out in a stable his whole life and treated like dirt because some stuck up bitch thinks her husband has been playing away," Ceri told him, her face grim.

"You remembered that too, huh?" Alistair looked impressed. "I'm not used to people listening to me."

"You're my friend, Alistair, of course I remembered." Ceri shook her head. "Let's get this over with, ok? Then when we set up camp tonight I'll tell you all about the time Mateo got drunk and sang a happy little song wearing nothing but his sister's lace underwear. If that doesn't cheer you up nothing will."

xoxox

"Is it my imagination, or is this place ominously quiet?" Ceri asked, looking around the dismal street.

Although the upper tiers of Redcliffe village were solid enough, the low lying ground was marshy due to the proximity of the lake. Efforts had been made to counter this by installing raised wooden boardwalks, linking the houses and allowing the villagers to move freely without soaking their feet. Now, however the street was empty, the houses silent and shuttered as though the whole village were deserted.

"This is strange." Alistair shook his head. "I don't think I've ever seen it so quiet."

A crashing sound behind them drew their attention to Shale bringing up the rear and stamping on each board as though it were an offending bird. The wood groaned under the golem's weight as she stomped along.

"Shale, d'you think you could walk a little lighter?" Ceri asked. "I don't think stamping like that is good for the road."

"How exactly does it expect a stone golem to walk lighter?" Shale demanded. "It clearly has very little knowledge of the nature of _stone._"

"Stop acting like the road is a pigeon and start treating it like something that's going to drop you neck deep in mud if you keep abusing it like that," the girl retorted. "I _know_ you can walk without stamping because I've seen you do it."

"I will consider it," Shale muttered, but her footfalls became a lot quieter and the boards ceased their protests.

"That's a relief," Alistair whispered. "I didn't fancy trying to dig her out."

Ceri nodded absently but her mind was already back to wondering where everyone was. They'd had to leave the wagon on the one of the upper tiers when the path became too steep for the dwarves to risk taking it any further. Bodahn had been bitterly disappointed when it became clear that there was no-one to trade with but Sandal had settled down in the shade of the wagon, murmuring happily to himself as he began to enchant a dagger they'd picked up on the road. Amalia sat beside him, watching with interest as the young dwarf used strange tools with blades no larger than a pen nib to inscribe intricate runes on the weapon.

A strange scraping noise caught Ceri's attention and she looked around trying to find the source. Alistair touched her shoulder before pointing away towards a cluster of houses on the lake shore. Out on the wooden steps leading down to the street an old man sat honing a broad bladed axe. Pale blue eyes under a shaggy mop of silver hair fixed them with a stern glare as the group approached but the whetstone never ceased its long strokes.

"Strangers, eh?" he growled. "Tha's best to move along. Tain't safe 'ere after dark."

"What's going on here?" Alistair demanded. "Where is everyone?"

"Hiding in t'chantry like as not." The man cleared his throat noisily and spat in the mud beside him. "Twill do no good, Ah'll tell 'ee that fer nowt. If tha wants to know what's about in Redcliffe, young man, tha'd best speak t'bann."

"And he'll be able to tell us what's going on will he?" Alistair sounded dubious.

"Ah doubt it," the old man replied with an evil chuckle. "Bout time the lazy young bugger started earning his keep though."

"Is this 'ban' a person then?" Ceri asked, embarrassment heating her face when Alistair looked at her like she'd just started dribbling.

"Arl's brother," the old man put in before Alistair could say anything. He heaved himself up with a groan and shouldered his axe. "Ee'll be up at chantry wi rest of 'em, no doubt. Can't sit chattin' all day, ah'd best check on the poor little sod they left guarding the causeway, make sure ee's not wet hisself agin. Mah service to ye ladies."

With a curt bow to Ceri, Leliana and Morrigan, who looked rather bemused by the courtesy, he strode away toward a path leading into the upper tiers.

"So where's the chantry then?" Ceri asked, hoping Alistair wasn't going to make too much of her ignorance.

"On the highest tier, opposite the castle," he replied, pointing away behind them. "Redcliffe is shaped like a crescent moon, with the castle at one end and the chantry at the other. We came down in the middle, you see?"

Squinting against the sun Ceri could just pick out the shape of a huge building high above them.

"Why put it up there?" she asked, following obediently as they started back up the hill.

"Well the Chant of Light says that the Maker watches over mankind from above," Alistair told her. "Or at least he used to before we got all uppity and made a bonfire out of the girl He'd chosen as His bride. Humanity fell out of favour after that for some reason. I guess the Chantry feels it's their job to keep an eye on all the naughty people until the Maker is in a better mood with us."

"_Alistair!_" Leliana squealed indignantly. "The chantry is built on higher ground so the people can always see it and be reminded that the Maker and Andraste watch over them. Not because of some deluded desire to prove that we are better than everyone because we have been called to serve Him."

"And believing in a mythical being whose existence is unproven could _never _be called deluded." Morrigan said, a note of amusement in her voice.

Ceri managed to bite down on the laugh that was threatening to escape. She loved Leliana dearly but sometimes the whole religious thing got on her nerves. As far as she was concerned faith was purely personal and shouldn't be waved around like a battle flag for everyone to see. Leli, bless her heart, had accepted that and tried to keep her banner waving tendencies under control but every so often they slipped out. Which was usually when Alistair started making fun of the Chant and _that_ was turning into a daily occurrence now he had the encouragement of a willing accomplice. Like Ceri he really hated having religious dogma shoved down his throat, probably because being a Templar initiate he'd got it every day until Duncan conscripted him. Adding Morrigan's natural tendency to mock anything she didn't like only made things worse and Ceri was all too aware of the potential for the three of them to gang up on Leli without even meaning to. Well she and Alistair wouldn't mean it, at least.

"C'mon Leli, he's only joking. We both know Alistair is really a deeply devout person," she laughed, tucking her arm through Leliana's. "You've only got to see him worshipping a piece of cheddar to know that."

"Of course, you are right Ceri," Leliana replied, shooting Alistair a dirty look, "and I am certain it will do him much good when he comes into his birthright."

"Indeed. Now let's go find this ban person and see what he's got to say for himself."

They led the way up the narrow path, leaving Alistair to splutter his way along behind them as Morrigan began to laugh.

xoxox

If there was any doubt that there was trouble in Redcliffe it was dispelled when they reached the chantry. Although the surrounding wall was undamaged the great wooden gates were splintered and one appeared to have been wrenched right off its hinges. Grim faced men were trying to get the twisted metal back into some sort of order but Alistair could see that it was not going to be easy. Even if they managed to right the hinges it would take a miracle to get the gate in place once more. On the far side of the courtyard a group of men in armour were drilling under the watchful eye of a templar.

"Alistair, come look at this."

There was a tremble to Ceri's voice that got his attention straight away. She appeared to be examining the fallen gate with interest, but when she looked up he saw she was white faced and shaking.

"What's wrong?" he asked, staring at the damaged wood. He couldn't see anything to provoke such a reaction.

"These marks," she whispered, "they're from fingernails. Look."

She spread her hand wide and carefully fitted her fingers to the scratches. Alistair shook his head in disbelief, even as he copied her and placed his own hand against the marks.

"What could do this?" he breathed.

"Someone or thing desperate to gain entry," Morrigan said, bending down to peer at the scored wood. For once there was no trace of contempt in her voice. "I would suggest perhaps 'things' to be the more likely answer. There are marks from hands of many sizes here."

"I have a bad feeling about this," Ceri murmured, echoing Alistair's thoughts.

He squeezed her shoulder but couldn't be sure if it were to reassure her or himself.

"Come one," he said, trying to sound confident and encouraging. "Let's go and find the Bann."

If the chantry courtyard had seemed chaotic it was nothing compared to what they found inside. It seemed that the old man had been right and the entire village was huddled in tight groups around the nave. The soft hum of many frightened voices filled the air and the ever present incense couldn't cover the odour of sweat and fear that billowed out as they opened the doors. Dozens of terrified eyes swivelled to stare at them, the conversations petering out into tense silence. Alistair wondered how much of their fear was down to Sten and Shale hulking at the back of the party like a couple of natural disasters looking for somewhere to happen.

_I must remember to tell Ceri that one,_ he thought with a mental chuckle. _She'll love it._

A familiar voice echoing from the transept caught Alistair's attention as it drew closer. He was surprised by how welcome it was, by the surge of gladness that welled up in his chest. The owner of the voice was emerging from the shadowy transept, the uncertain light making his dark auburn hair look almost black. It suddenly occurred to Alistair that he hadn't seen Bann Teagan for nearly twelve years and he felt a flash of uncertainty as he wondered if the man would even recognise him as the miserable, skinny boy who he'd been kind to.

_ooo_

Teagan had always treated him as Alistair thought an uncle might, even though he had no reason to. Arl Eamon had tried to discourage the attention his brother paid to Alistair and Arlessa Isolde had been downright horrified to find that a relation of hers, albeit by marriage, was acknowledging the bastard she barely tolerated at her husband's behest. Still, Teagan had never talked down to him and had always spared him a few moments no matter how busy he was. Indeed there had been days, weeks even, when Teagan had been the only person to speak kindly to him. Young Alistair had looked forward to the Bann's visits, knowing that while Teagan was at Redcliff there would be one person who wouldn't look at him with contempt, who would ask what he had been up to this time without either reproach or accusation. On that last terrible day before Alistair was sent off to whichever Maker forsaken chantry the Arl had chosen, he had been disturbed from his packing by the ringing of hooves in the courtyard. Peeping out of the stable loft his heart had leaped to see the familiar black stallion being led to a stall. He'd swung himself down from the loft and raced for the castle, guessing that Teagan would go to see the Arl first. It had taken no time at all for him to reach his usual hiding place behind one of the great suits of armour outside the Arl's study. Alistair had settled down to wait until they'd finished, so he could catch Teagan when he left. After a few moments however he began to wish he'd stayed in his loft.

"The decision is already made, Teagan," Arl Eamon's voice was muffled by the thick wood of the door. "The boy leaves today."

"I can understand all too well why you want the boy gone, Eamon, but to send him to the Chantry? That is just cruel."

Alistair shivered at the tone. He'd been on the receiving end of it once, after he'd spoken back to Isolde when she'd taken offence at his presence for the umpteenth time that day. Teagan had admonished him, told him he should show the Arlessa respect and the worst part was he'd sounded so damned disappointed. If he'd been angry Alistair might have laughed it off but the tone had cut him to the quick. He'd gone to Isolde and had apologised as best he could, holding his tongue when she dismissed both him and his contrition with contempt. He strained his ears to catch the rest of the conversation.

"Maric told me to raise the boy as I saw fit," Eamon snapped, sounding defensive. "Damn it all, Teagan, Isolde wanted him sent to a monastery in Orlais. I cannot begin to describe the lengths it took to persuade her that a Fereldan chantry would be just as good."

"I'll wager Maric never dreamed you would see fit to send the poor lad off to be a templar though." In his mind's eye Alistair could see the Bann, arms folded and glaring at his brother. It wasn't in Teagan's nature to turn a blind eye to something he thought was wrong. "He wanted the boy to have a normal life, not to be saddled with being the king's bastard his whole life."

"What would you know of what Maric wanted for the boy?" Eamon demanded angrily. "You were barely out of boyhood yourself when Alistair was born."

"Even if he didn't want to acknowledge the boy as his, Maric is not a cruel man. He would never condone the way you have treated his son over the years. Living in the stables, for Andraste's sake? Maker preserve us."

"He is the son of a servant, an unacknowledged bastard. I have done what I could for the boy as far as I was able. Isolde..." The Arl's voice trailed off weakly.

"Isolde still believes the boy to be your bastard and all your protestations to the contrary only make her believe it the more." Teagan laughed mirthlessly. "She is jealous and insecure, and she hates the boy more than anything."

"She is with child, Teagan and Alistair agitates her. I will not risk her health, the child's wellbeing." The squeak of wood against stone and the Arl's voice growing softer told Alistair that he had risen from his chair and was now pacing the room. "It is better that Alistair leaves. He will be educated, trained. As a templar his blood will mean nothing."

"Brother, I understand your desire to placate your wife but what you are doing is cruel and unjust. Alistair deserves better of you, of us. Let me take him back to Rainesfere. He would be happier there and Isolde would be able to forget all about him."

Alistair's heart was pounding so hard he thought it might leap from his mouth and go bouncing around the room like a demented frog. Teagan was willing to take him on, to give him a home. Maybe it would just be another stable but even that wouldn't be so bad without Isolde hovering like a spiteful dragon waiting to roast him if he put a toe out of line. Or maybe Teagan would give him a room of his own. Alistair closed his eyes and pictured it. It wouldn't be big, just enough space for a bed and maybe a small chest to hold his meagre belongings. He didn't have much to call his own, just the clothes he was wearing, a heavier set for winter and a pair of boots. They were all old, having passed through many hands before they came to him but they still had plenty of wear in them. Apart from that there was only the miniature golem doll the Arl had bought for him the last time they'd been in Denerim. If it could just be over the kitchen as well, so that it would always be warm, then everything would just be perfect. Never in his short life had Alistair ever wanted something so desperately, not a proper family, not a playmate who _didn't_ call him names, not even for some gruesome monster to emerge from the depths of the lake to scare the living daylights out of Isolde. For that one moment Alistair could say he was truly happy.

It wasn't to last.

"My mind is made up, Teagan." The Arl's sounded tired but there was a stern finality in his voice. "The boy leaves for the chantry today. It will be better for all concerned."

Alistair didn't wait to hear what Teagan had to say. He scrambled out from his hiding place, bitter disappointment clawing at his throat like a wild beast. He barely noticed the clatter as he knocked some small piece of the armour loose in his haste and he didn't stop at the sound of the heavy door being flung open and his name being called.

_ooo_

"Alistair? By the Maker, it _is_ you!"

He was dragged from the memory by that same voice calling his name. He had enough time to blink in surprise before he was caught in a bear hug that would have crushed the air from him had he not been wearing his armour. Pulling back Alistair realised with a start that he was actually taller than Teagan now. The older man was grinning, genuine relief in his blue eyes as he shook his head in disbelief.

"I can hardly believe my eyes," he exclaimed, clapping Alistair on the shoulder as if to reassure himself that he was real. "After the tales of what went on at Ostagar I was certain you were lost."

"I didn't think you would remember me, Bann Teagan," Alistair replied, feeling some of the old assurance that had always come to him with Teagan's approval. "Not lost though. I managed to find my way home somehow."

"Funny that," he heard Ceri mutter to Leliana. "I distinctly remember him looking at the map yesterday and going 'uh oh, I think we're lost again'."

The strangest expression flitted across Teagan's face, so fast Alistair wasn't quite sure he'd even seen it. A mixture of surprise, amusement and unbearable hope, almost as though something he'd thought gone forever had just dropped into his lap and told a joke. As quickly as it had come however, the expression vanished, replaced by the calm mask Alistair remembered so well. About to speak, Teagan was interrupted by the approach of a younger man wearing the armour and crest of the Arl's household.

"My lord, our preparations are well underway," he called. Then he frowned and shook his head. "Although I for one would be happier if Murdock would keep his men out of the bloody tavern."

"It cannot be helped, Ser Perth, nor can I really blame them," Teagan sighed. "If I face those horrors again I fear I would prefer to be drunk as well."

"Horrors? What _is_ going on, Bann Teagan?" Alistair demanded, trying to push down the worry gnawing at him.

"That old man outside said it wasn't safe," Ceri added, glancing up at them both like she expected to be rebuked for interrupting.

"Ser Perth, go and ask Mother Hannah if we can borrow her office," Teagan said briskly. "I will tell you all that I know of the horrors that plague Redcliffe Alistair, and perhaps you and your friends might be persuaded to aid us."

His eyes lingered on Ceri, taking in her ragged hair and smudged face. Alistair felt a tickle of jealousy burn him and held firm against the irrational urge to block Teagan's view of her. Because Teagan was looking at Ceri the same way Alistair might look at a very expensive cheese. Before he could say anything, however, the Bann's expression once again became open and friendly and Alistair was left to wonder if he'd imagined the strange hunger that had burned in Teagan's eyes.

"Will you join us, my lady?" Teagan asked.

"This is Ceri, she joined the Grey Wardens at Ostagar," Alistair offered when it became obvious Ceri wasn't going to introduce herself. "You'd better come with us Ceri. I'll only forget half of it if I have to tell you later."

She smiled at that and nodded, although Alistair noticed her eyes were wary when she glanced at Teagan. Maybe he wasn't imagining things but then why would she be afraid of Teagan? Surely if she knew him she would have mentioned it on the way to Redcliffe and why feign ignorance of what a bann was? He puzzled it over as Ceri turned to Leliana, asking her to take Khan and fetch the wagon with its passengers back to the relative safety of the chantry walls. With a final admonishment to Morrigan, Sten and Shale to behave themselves, Ceri fell into step beside him as they followed Teagan to a small book lined room. Her eyes went wide at the sight of the neatly ordered shelves and she brushed trembling fingers along a couple of spines before looking up at him.

"Books," she whispered, the naked longing on her face almost painful to see.

"Books later, business now," Alistair whispered back, then wished he hadn't as her shoulders slumped and her grey eyes clouded with disappointment.

"I miss my books," she sighed, accepting the seat Teagan offered her. "If I don't read something soon, I'm going to forget how."

"Perhaps you _should_ begin here, my lady," Teagan said with a smile. "Mother Hannah has a taste for the unusual and her library reflects that. Maybe you can find an explanation for the demons that plague Redcliffe where we have failed."

"Demons?" Alistair demanded. "Really? Real demons, Bann Teagan?"

"Having never seen a demon before, Alistair, I could not say for certain but it seems to me the only answer." For a moment the mask slipped and it struck Alistair how deeply worried Teagan was. "Let me start at the beginning, or at least at the point where I realised something was wrong."

So Teagan told them what had been going on in the land following the disaster at Ostagar, while their little party had fought their way toward Redcliffe. Loghain's first move on returning to Denerim had been to establish himself Queen Anora's regent and threaten bloody retribution on anyone who failed to align under his banner. Furthermore he denounced the Grey Wardens as traitors guilty of murdering King Cailan and declared any survivors outlaws who were to be killed on sight.

"Eamon wasn't present at the Landsmeet," Teagan continued, "and no one seemed to know why. Indeed when I left it was beginning to be whispered that perhaps Loghain had something to do with his absence or at the very least was taking advantage of it to appropriate more power than was his due."

"Do you believe that?" Alistair asked, trying to ignore the anger churning in his stomach at the mention of Loghain.

"I believe it was most fortuitous that Loghain and his men survived the battle without injury when all others perished. Almost unbelievably so." Teagan said quietly. "Many of my noble brethren were not _enamoured_ of the demands Loghain made of us or the threats he issued to those who questioned his authority."

"I bet the only ones who are happy at it are the people who are going to get something out of him," Ceri snorted.

"Undoubtedly," Teagan nodded in agreement. "In any case, I was concerned by Eamon's absence and once the Landsmeet was concluded I came to Redcliffe to discover the reason behind it. That was two weeks ago and my life has been a waking nightmare ever since."

Alistair exchanged a knowing look with Ceri. There was a sentiment they could both relate to.

"When I arrived I found the village in chaos, the people torn between panic and despair. There had been no word from the castle for weeks, although rumour had it that Eamon was suffering from some mysterious ailment and Isolde had sent many of the household knights off on a hopeless mission for a cure. As if this were not bad enough, Murdoch informed me that a faceless horror was stalking the village. No-one had seen it clearly but all had heard its terrible cries in the night. It soon became clear that this was not one creature but many, their numbers increasing with each passing day until there were sufficient to mount an attack."

Teagan seemed at a loss for words and smiled his gratitude when Ser Perth took up the tale.

"They come from the castle at night," the young knight told them, "like men and yet unlike, they crave the flesh of the living and will stop at nothing to satiate that dreadful hunger. Those who fall to them are dragged back to the castle, only to return the next night as a ravening horror like the thing that killed them."

"But what are they?" Alistair asked.

"We know not," Ser Perth replied as Teagan shrugged helplessly. "They are all the same, whether they wear the clothes of servants, guards or villagers, their flesh is dry and shrivelled as though they had lain for centuries in some remote tomb."

"Zombies?" Ceri blurted, a rosy blush tinting her cheeks when she realised she'd spoken aloud. "You're saying you've got zombies? No wonder the gate's broken."

"You have heard of these creatures then?" Ser Perth demanded eagerly. "How do we stop them?"

Alistair scowled as Ceri shrank back from the knight towering over her but before he could speak Teagan interrupted.

"Ser Perth, I believe we will have more success in persuading the lady to share her knowledge if you don't scare the living daylights out of her." Turning to Ceri he continued, "You must understand, this enemy is like nothing we have ever seen. They do not bleed nor respond as a mortal enemy might and unless they are torn to pieces they do not stop. Our numbers dwindle with each attack for we can only hold the creatures off until sunrise and they return from whence they came. We are in desperate need of a strategy that will end this threat and any insight you can provide will be most welcome."

Alistair was surprised when she looked to him, as though asking permission to speak. Then he saw the pain in her eyes and realised her dilemma. If she told them what she knew of these creatures and it proved ineffective she would be responsible for any losses the village suffered. He smiled encouragement and laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"If you know something you must tell us," he murmured. "Any help is better than none."

She searched his eyes for a moment then nodded.

"Ok but this is straight off the top of my head," she told them, waiting for them to agree before she continued. "From what you've said they definitely sound more like zombies than ghouls. Ghouls eat human flesh too but they're still, well, I suppose _alive_ would be the most appropriate word. And people killed by ghouls stay dead."

"But how do we kill them effectively?" Ser Perth interrupted. "We have discovered a cache of oil in the village shop. Will they burn?"

"You're not serious?" Ceri exclaimed, horrified. She turned to Alistair in appeal. "Please tell me he's joking?"

"Little girl, this is no child's game," Ser Perth snarled, grabbing her arm and shaking her. "Now will fire work on these demons? Tell me!"

Alistair wasn't aware of moving but the next thing he knew his hand was tight around the angry knight's wrist, fingers digging into the tendons until Ser Perth's fingers jerked open and released Ceri's arm. A cool, detached part of his mind commented that it had been rather stupid of the knight to remove his gauntlets, since they would have prevented Alistair getting any sort of control over his hand. He shoved Perth backwards hard enough to make the other man stumble.

"Sit down," Alistair might have been shocked by the dangerous note that had crept into his voice if he hadn't still been seething with fury, "and keep your hands to yourself."

"Despite appearances to the contrary you _are_ in the presence of a lady, Ser Perth. You would do well to remember it," Teagan added, glaring at Ser Perth until he flushed and resumed his seat. Turning back to Ceri he smiled apologetically. "You must forgive him, my lady. These last weeks have been hard on us all."

"Obviously," Ceri sniffed, turning her own stormy glare on the chastened knight, "if he thinks letting flaming zombies go running around is a good idea. Tell me, _Ser _Perth, has it rained here recently?"

"What has that got to do with anything?" the knight demanded sullenly. When she raised an expectant eyebrow he sighed and answered. "No, it has not rained recently. My lady."

"And have you happened to notice what most of the buildings, not to mention the lower streets, in this village are made of?"

"They are made of wood." He straightened and glared back at her. "What is the purpose of this?"

"Bear with me, Ser Knight, I am just an ignorant child after all." Alistair had to bite his lip to keep from laughing aloud at the sarcastic tone. "Tell me though, what happens when you burn someone alive? Do they just drop down dead or do they do a bit of thrashing and wriggling around first?"

"I believe thrashing and wriggling would be a reasonable description," Teagan replied when it became obvious that Ser Perth was now sulking, "and judging by his silence, I think my friend here has just caught your drift. Using fire on these monsters would likely set the entire village ablaze."

"After they've gone down, then by all means burn them," Ceri told them, "but not while they're still running around. The most effective way to kill a zombie is to destroy the head. Crush it or cut it off or even both if you want to be sure."

"By the time they are within reach to do that, they are already too close," Ser Perth objected.

"Well it's somewhere to start," Alistair put in. "Ceri, maybe you should go through Mother Hannah's books and see if you can find anything useful to help us. We can make preparations while you do that."

"Sounds good to me," she agreed with a smile.

"Mother Hannah mentioned that one of the village girls helps keep her library in order," Teagan told them. "I'll have someone find her and send her to help you. Alistair, perhaps it would be best if Ceridwen remains here in the chantry tonight? We must have some plan if the defence at the causeway fails and any insight she can give may make all the difference."

"Good idea," Alistair replied. "It's not like your bow will be much use anyway, Ceri."

She nodded absently, her dreamy gaze already on the bookshelves. Alistair exchanged a look with Bann Teagan and they both laughed.

"She'll be out of it for the rest of the day by the looks of it," Alistair chuckled. "I'll go and tell the others what we're planning. Maybe Morrigan can knock up some healing supplies or something."

"Ask her nicely and she might," Ceri said over her shoulder, making her way to the nearest bookcase and peering at the titles.

Alistair followed Ser Perth from the room, still musing about how to persuade the witch to help them. Something was nagging at the back of his mind though, something that had just been said but hadn't registered properly. A sarcastic voice drew him from his thoughts.

"I suppose Ceridwen wishes to help these pathetic people?" Morrigan sniffed disapproval as she inspected the gathered villagers with a critical eye. "'Tis too much to hope that you might have persuaded her otherwise, Alistair."

He drew breath to deliver a scathing retort but it died on his lips in a flash of insight. That was what had been bothering him. Teagan had said '_Ceridwen_', despite Alistair introducing her as Ceri. No-one had called her by her given name while they'd been in the village so how did Teagan know it? For that matter why _had_ he looked at her with such hunger in his eyes and why had Ceri seemed so afraid of him? Another memory surfaced: when he asked Duncan who was responsible for the murder of Ceri's family, the older warden had said 'it does not matter now'. Why hadn't he told Alistair? Surely if they were supposed to be protecting Ceri from a further attempt on her life then it was important to know from which quarter it would come. Unless it would come from those who might command Alistair's loyalty or at least those from whom he would never believe such a thing possible. Arl Eamon was the King's uncle, he was a powerful figure at the Landsmeet and he had many soldiers at his command. If he wanted a particular family wiped out it would be easy for him to accomplish, Alistair supposed, but why? Ceri had said herself that she wasn't important, just the illegitimate daughter of an absent father. Then it dawned on him: what if, like his own father, Ceri's had been an important figure? What if Ceri was as much a political inconvenience as Alistair? Maybe her mother had managed to keep her hidden away all this time but now she had been discovered. Alistair knew all too well that Arl Eamon lived and breathed politics, what might he do if he discovered a threat or at least something he perceived to be a threat to the throne or to the stability of Ferelden itself? He had sent Alistair to a monastery after all but Ceri was too old now to be sent to the cloister, besides which there would be no way to keep her there if she was unwilling. Perhaps her mother had refused. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made and Alistair was left with a sick feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He had just left Ceri alone with the Arl's brother.

Ignoring Morrigan's angry words at his inattention, Alistair turned and ran back the way he'd come, praying he wasn't already too late.

* * *

**A/N - **Merry Christmas everyone :)

I thought this chapter would be easy to finish and get up once I got onto my Christmas Hols but unfortunately all the family stuff kept getting in the way - plus I promised several people knitted gifts this year (who knew gloves would take so long?). Silly Alistair, jumping to conclusions like that - although I have no trouble believing Arl Eamon would (possibly) take it into his head to wipe out someone's family as a political necessity, Alistair really ought to know Teagan better than that. Apologies if the old man's 'dialect' is rather cobbled together - I had Compo from Last of the Summer Wine in mind when I wrote that speech - I know it's not authentic, just a sad fan's impression of something great from her childhood.

Like Ceri I've been missing my books terribly these past few months - when I haven't been working or writing all I've wanted to do is sleep. However I got a lovely surprise from my Mum on Christmas day as she'd got me a Kindle ebook - I've now got all my favourites (Tolkien, Douglas Adams, David Eddings and Sir (Ser?) Arthur Conan Doyle) in one place and I'm going to catch up on some serious reading in the next few weeks.

Coming up - The Siege of Redcliffe, numerous zombies, one grumpy Alistair and a blinding flash of inspiration from Ceri.


	13. Secrets and Lies

Chapter 13 – Secrets & Lies

Ceri stared at the books on the shelf without really seeing them. Some of them had titles on the spine but most didn't and without looking in each one she had no idea where to start looking for an answer to Redcliffe's zombie problem. That was assuming they even were zombies and not some strange monster she'd never heard of that just bore a striking resemblance to a zombie. She pushed the thought away. No use in borrowing trouble after all, not when a bigger problem than possible zombies was staring her in the face. Well to be entirely accurate the problem was staring at her back but that really was neither here nor there.

She hadn't missed the recognition that flared in Teagan's eyes when he first looked at her, once he'd managed to see past the grime coating her face and hair. Nor had she missed the longing that flitted across his face, no matter how quickly he marshalled his features back to an expression of friendly concern. It had confirmed the fear that had been gnawing on her mind since they'd begun the descent into Redcliffe village: here was someone who knew Ceridwen Cousland and therefore someone who would know her for a fraud. She'd hoped that Teagan would follow Alistair and Ser Sulky-Knickers when they left but he had remained stubbornly seated behind the desk. Now she could feel the weight of his gaze on her back and so she continued to stare blindly at the books, hoping he would leave her alone.

_Maybe he didn't know her that well_, she thought desperately. _Maybe he won't want to talk._

But that wasn't really likely, not with the way he'd looked at her. It was pretty obvious that Bann Teagan wasn't just a casual acquaintance of Lady Cousland and by his expression it seemed that he was stunned to find her here in Redcliffe. He was going to want answers and Ceri just wasn't sure what to tell him. She only had the vaguest memory of the human noble origin from the game and she had no way of knowing if the story in the game bore any resemblance to the actual events of this world. The more she thought about it the more anxious she became until her hands were shaking too hard for her to grasp the book she reached for.

"I can understand why you would not want the whole village aware of your arrival," Teagan said softly, "but will you not speak with me now we are alone?"

Still she kept her face resolutely turned away, forcing herself to take deep steadying breaths as she heard the squeak of the chair legs against the stone floor. The strangest thing was that some small insane part of her actually wanted to turn round and confess. To tell this stranger exactly who and what she was, to see what his reaction would be. She had come close to telling Alistair the truth once or twice, but either the conversation had naturally turned away from the topic or she had lost her nerve and changed the subject. As the weeks passed and their friendship grew, it became easier just to ignore the problem and hope that the question of her true origin would never arise. Alistair had invented his own version of her former life, shaping the facts she had given him into a story that made sense. In his eyes her mother was a scholar attached to the household of a minor noble and Ceri was the pet of their patron's children and friends. Some days she could almost believe the story herself, listening to Alistair rattle on with his ideas of how her life had been before she'd joined the Grey Wardens. But those stories weren't going to help and she was certain Teagan would know she was lying as soon as she opened her mouth. She just couldn't lie convincingly, that was why she was letting Alistair draw his own conclusions about her rather than making something up.

"Ceridwen, please."

When his hand closed on her shoulder she flinched, jerking away from the touch as though it were scalding. She heard him swear under his breath and then he was turning her to him, lifting her chin so he could see her face clearly. Whatever he read there was enough to make him swear again.

"So that is it. You fear I will betray you, hand you over to Loghain for reward."

He sighed and brushed her hair away from her face, his eyes tightening when she flinched again under his hand.

"Have we not always been good friends, you and I? Indeed, I had once hoped for something more," he began before shaking his head as though to dismiss the idea. "It matters not. Ceridwen, please believe me when I say that I am and always will be your friend. Surely you cannot believe I would abandon you to what passes for justice in Denerim now, no matter what tales our so-called regent and his lackeys are spreading?"

He seemed sincere, just as he'd seemed genuinely glad to find Alistair safe and well. Would it be enough? Would he keep their presence a secret from anyone Loghain might send after them because he was Lady Cousland's friend and fond of Alistair? Could she go through with it? Could she pretend to be something she wasn't to keep Teagan's goodwill? It was bad enough that she was lying to Alistair about her past, even if it was a lie by omission, but at least he liked her for herself. Teagan's friendship wasn't hers to take, she hadn't earned it, didn't deserve it.

_But she has taken everything of yours,_ a dark voice murmured in the quiet corners of her mind. _Why not take what is hers and make it your own? Think of the alternative. If they discover what you are they'll turn you out, abandon you, maybe even kill you. Do you want that? How will you cope without them? How will Alistair cope without you?_

Her shoulders drooped as the cold voice of fear kept railing in her mind, telling her to keep herself safe, for her sake, for his. She allowed Teagan to steer her back to the chair she'd occupied during the meeting, not meeting his eyes as he sat in Alistair's chair. She would do it. She would lie to this man who thought her his friend to save her own miserable skin.

"What happened at Highever, Ceridwen?" Teagan asked gently. "Loghain announced to the Landsmeet that your father had been charged with treason and your family executed when he would not surrender to judgement. That the teyrnir, which should now be your brother's, was forfeit and had been granted to Rendon Howe in gratitude for bringing the traitor to light."

So that much of the game was right then. Arl Howe had attacked Highever and killed Teyrn Cousland. Which probably meant the part where everyone in the castle died was true as well. If she hadn't been so caught up in her own thoughts she might have heard the sharp intake of breath outside the door, even muffled as it was by the thick wood. As it was, the sound passed unnoticed.

"A Grey Warden, Duncan, was there. He took me to Ostagar," she said, voice tight with nerves. That was true at least, whatever had become of the real Ceridwen.

"And made you join the order," he added, his tone dripping disapproval.

"He didn't make me," she faltered then stopped and thought about it properly.

She had been forced to Join, hadn't she? Duncan hadn't left her with any choice, not if she wanted to live, and no matter how fine his reasoning afterwards, however deserving the cause, he had abused his guardianship of her. Saving her life shouldn't give him the right to choose where it would be thrown away and that was what being a Warden seemed to be all about: throwing yourself headlong at every darkspawn you come across and if you survive, you get to do it all over again tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that until finally you reach a day when you just don't get up again. She shook with anger at the unfairness of it all, with all the pain and fear she had kept pushed down all this time. Duncan had known that she wasn't in any fit state to take the Joining, he'd admitted as much to Wynne. He'd known and he'd still made her go through with it. This was the source of her anger and resentment: she was a child forced into a role she wasn't meant for by the very adult who was supposed to be protecting her. The demon had known it, when she had gone rummaging around in the thoughts Ceri had desperately tried to keep locked away. It was all Duncan's fault she was cold and wet and terrified and miserable all the time and now he was gone, well out of it, while she suffered the consequences.

"It's not fair," she said bitterly.

"I agree," Teagan told her with a sympathetic smile. "But there is a bright side, my dear, if you choose to see it."

"Tell me."

"Your fellow Warden of course." He laughed at her confused expression. "Alistair will not let any harm come to you. As a child he was fascinated with tales of knights in shining armour rescuing damsels in distress. You may just be his dream come true."

"Well that explains a lot," Ceri replied. Her anger melted away at the thought of a child Alistair using a stick to attack a hay-bale 'dragon'. "He'll get plenty of damsel rescuing practice with me around. I can't even fight properly yet."

"It was a shock seeing you all geared up for war. Your mother would have a fit if she could see you now," he added, gesturing at her leathers. Then he frowned as if struck by a sudden thought. "What have you told Alistair of your family? How much does he know?"

"Not much," she said, feeling sick. "I, I couldn't."

"You do not need to explain yourself to me, my dear. Remember, I know what has been said." Teagan squeezed her hand sympathetically. "You must realise that if Fergus fell at Ostagar, you are Teyrna now. Howe will stop at nothing to ensure there are no Couslands surviving to challenge his version of events."

She shook her head, trying to force out a reply but terror strangled the words. This couldn't be happening. Bad enough that she was masquerading as something she wasn't but they couldn't make her be Teyrna of Highever, could they? Didn't being a Grey Warden mean that she couldn't be anything else? With a sudden flash of insight Ceri understood how Alistair must have felt when she'd suggested he might be king now Cailan was gone. If it wasn't enough that she had to worry about people wanting her dead because she might ruin Loghain's version of what happened at Ostagar, now someone else wanted her dead because, in theory, she knew what happened at Highever. It was too much, on top of the sleepless nights, the constant tension and death haunting her steps. Ceri's shoulders hunched and she pulled shaking hands from his grip as she tried to blink away the tears welling up once more.

_I can't spend the rest of my life crying_, she thought, biting down on the hysterical sobs welling up inside. _For God's sake get a grip, you pathetic spineless wretch!_

"Ceridwen, look at me."

His tone was stern and brooked no refusal. Reluctantly she raised her eyes to meet Teagan's and was shocked by the compassion she found there. It did nothing to help her mood though, if anything it made her feel worse. He was a good man who had the potential to be a very good friend and she was using him. The tears began to spill over as her inner voice railed against her weakness.

"None of that," Teagan said, wiping the wet streaks away with his thumb. "It is bad enough that Eleanor would be horrified to find you in armour. Do not force me to remind you what she would have to say about crying when there is work to be done."

She managed a soggy chuckle at the wry tone. Her own mother would probably have a similar reaction to both the armour and the tears. Teagan's next question took her by surprise as he tucked that same errant lock of hair back behind her ear.

"When did you last eat?"

"This morning? Maybe?" she replied, half to herself. "I can't remember. Every day is the same and the meals all run together after a while. I'm so hungry all the time now."

"Then I shall make sure someone brings you something to eat after I've found Mother Hannah's young librarian and sent her to you. I doubt I shall have to look far to find her." He gave her a rueful smile as he rose to leave. "To my knowledge Ser Perth has evicted her from the office three times today at the least. I believe that I owe her several apologies."

xoxox

Shortly after Teagan left Ceri was disturbed from her thoughts by a sharp rap on the study door. Hurrying to open it she was confronted by a sandy haired boy of about ten or so carrying a tray laden with bread, cheese and rosy red apples. He brushed past her to set his burden down on the table before turning to stare at her.

"Your face is dirty," he pointed out bluntly.

"Bevin!"

The incredulous voice that came through the door was young and female. The boy, Bevin she supposed, rolled his eyes as a girl about Ceri's age entered the room carrying a large metal jug. Lazy wisps of steam spiralled from the jug's spout and Ceri's nose twitched at the familiar sharp tangy scent that accompanied the girl's progress toward the table. Setting the jug down, the girl turned and made an apologetic curtsey to Ceri.

"You must forgive him, milady. I suspect he was dropped on his head as a babe." She scowled at the boy. "You cannot say things like that, Bevin. What would Mother say?"

"She'd say her face is dirty," the boy insisted unabashed. Turing to Ceri he continued. "It really is you know."

"Unfortunately there's not much I can do about it," she replied, feeling the blush creeping up her cheeks. "Hot water and soap don't seem to be on anyone's priority list at the moment."

"I'm sure something can be done, milady," the girl said quickly. "I'm Kaitlyn, by the way. Bann Teagan sent me to help you because I have charge of Mother Hannah's library"

"Did he apologise for not listening to you?" Ceri asked curiously.

"Yes milady," Kaitlyn said with an uncomfortable little laugh. "Bowed over my hand like I was a lady, he did."

"Please don't call me that," Ceri begged, hurrying on when Kaitlyn's eyebrows shot up. "It's making me feel very uncomfortable. My name is Ceri."

"I like it," Bevin announced with a sly glance at his sister. "It suits you. Short and kind of pretty."

"Bevin!"

It struck Ceri then that the boy must get a lot of entertainment out of baiting his sister. The unease that had dogged her since Teagan had spoken with her began to fade. This was familiar, this was safe, the banter between siblings who despite all appearances to the contrary are actually quite fond of each other. She thought of Mateo and the lengths he'd go to protecting his sister, even though most of the time he called her every name under the sun and meant it. He never failed to lend her money when she asked, complaining bitterly even as he dug into his wallet and Merrill, for all she snarked and whined, was her brother's most strident supporter when he was in trouble. It occurred to Ceri then that there was not much difference in the way Alistair and Morrigan behaved. She giggled and resolved to keep that little notion to herself, not wanting to end up frozen and burned at the same time when they both blew up at the notion of being brother and sister.

"Bevin, did you see the people I arrived with?" Ceri asked, smiling when the boy nodded eagerly. "Find the girl with red hair and ask her to give you my pack out of the wagon. If you can't find her, come back and I'll go get it myself. Whatever you do don't make the mistake of asking the dark haired girl, she'll have you for breakfast."

He nodded and raced off. Kaitlyn turned an amused look on her.

"You do realise he'll go straight for the girl you told him to leave alone?" she asked. "He's contrary like that."

"He'll regret it then," Ceri laughed. "Morrigan can't abide children. She says she only tolerates me because I'm insane and it's interesting."

"Are you? Truly?" Kaitlyn's eyes were wide at the notion.

"Insane? More than likely." Ceri turned to investigate the food as hunger got the better of good manners. Munching on an apple she continued. "Did you have any luck in persuading them to look in the books?"

"I tried a few times but not really, no," the girl admitted. "After a while there was so much to do that I gave up. I've been trying to get in here and look myself but Ser Perth keeps turfing me out. When all's said and done, I'm just the daughter of a servant. I'm sorry, milady."

"Don't apologise to me," Ceri told her, shaking her head. "It's their fault, not yours. And please stop calling me 'milady'."

Without waiting for the other girl to reply, Ceri turned back to the table to examine the jug and its steaming contents. Accepting the small pottery cup that Kaitlyn offered she poured herself a cup of the rich black liquid and sipped cautiously. It was hot, bitter and ever so slightly spicy.

"Oh dear God," she breathed taking three more sips in quick succession, no longer caring about burning her tongue. "I died didn't I?"

"Milady?" Kaitlyn asked looking worried and apparently forgetting Ceri's injunction. "Is something wrong? Bann Teagan said you would prefer coffee to tea."

"This isn't coffee, this is heaven." Ceri's eyes slid closed and she savoured the rich flavours bursting on her tongue. "Black as sin and bitter as a broken heart. You know, for the last month they kept giving me stuff to drink and all it really tastes of is rust, mud and _brown_. And yet they still have the nerve to call it 'tea'."

"I'm glad you like it. Would you mind if I?" Kaitlyn left the question hanging as she gestured at the pot.

"Be my guest," Ceri grinned, holding her cup out for a refill. "Help yourself to the food too."

Bevin returned quickly, bearing Ceri's pack. Rummaging inside she dragged out the spare shirt they'd picked up from one of the traders along the road. She struggled out of the leather armour, muttering her thanks as Kaitlyn began to help with the straps and laces. She laid the breastplate aside with a sigh of relief and wriggled into the shirt.

"I swear that thing gets tighter just to spite me," she complained, flicking a contemptuous hand at it. "Now, Kaitlyn, as you know these books and I don't, I think you should be in charge of this little party we're having, don't you? Where do we start?"

"Well Brother Genitivi has written reams about the supernatural," Kaitlyn began.

"And pretty much everything else," Bevin added rolling his eyes. His complaint was cut off as Ceri handed him a lump of bread and cheese. "Thanks."

"I think he would still be as good a place as any to start," his sister insisted. "Mother Hannah has a lot of his books here."

xoxox

It soon became abundantly clear that while Brother Genetivi had devoted much time to the research of the 'waking undead' covering their likely origins, characteristics and habits in loving detail, he was strangely silent on the subject of how to dispose of them. While It was interesting, fascinating even, that the presence of a demon could have a desiccating effect in a corpse and that the weaker the demon, the faster the symptoms manifested, such knowledge would be cold comfort to the defenders when the zombies attacked after sunset.

Her concentration was broken when Kaitlin abruptly began to scold her brother once more. At first Bevin had been earnest in his intention to help, however his attention soon wandered and he had spent the best part of an hour searching for horror stories. So far the erstwhile Brother Genetivi hadn't disappointed him.

"I don't care about mages and magic weapons that kill Templars," Kaitlin declared, clearly struggling to keep her temper under control. "You are supposed to be helping us to find a way to kill these monsters."

"They're not magic weapons," Bevin protested, annoyed at his sister's tone, "they're magic sucking weapons."

"I don't care!" It came out as a strangled shriek. "Magic, not magic, I don't care. Whatever they are, your stupid mage-killers won't bring Mother back."

Ceri's eyes widened. So that was the cause of the tension between the siblings and Kaitlin's desperate attempts to get someone to allow her access to the library. Even as she moved to comfort the now sobbing girl, Ceri's mind was racing. Kaitlin had said 'mage-killers', the same term Wilhelm had used in his journal. Bits and pieces of information she'd found in the journal and the workbook came together. While it was probably too late to create a weapon from Wilhelm's notes, perhaps they could devise some kind of defence for the Chantry.

"Don't cry, Kait, please," Bevin begged, awkwardly trying to hug his sister. "I'm sorry."

"Kaitlin, I think I've got an idea," Ceri said urgently. "I've got a book that mentions these mage-killer weapons & I'm certain there must be something in there about how they were made. Genetivi says that the bodies get all shrivelled because of the magic the demons use to stay on this side of the veil. If we can take that magic away, maybe they'll ping back across to the Fade."

"There are hundreds," Kaitlin replied in a watery voice, "thousands maybe. We'd never make enough weapons to defeat them."

"We don't need to." Ceri bit her lip, frowning as she worked to pull the threads of her idea together. "Those zombies only managed to knock the gate down last night right?"

"Just before sunrise," Kaitlin agreed. "That was the only thing that saved us."

"They're not very clever," Bevin added, "well, most of them anyway. Only a few tried climbing over the walls and the Templars soon took care of them."

"Morrigan told me the Templars can pull the magic out of mages," Ceri pointed out. "If we can block the gate with something that will suck the magic out of the zombies, the Templars should be able to cope with the handful that try to get over the wall."

"Where will we find this miraculous _something_?" Kaitlyn's shoulders drooped as the spark of hope was smothered once more.

"Come with me," Ceri instructed, heading for the door. "I've got a plan!"

They hurried through the nave and out into the courtyard beyond. The huge gate that had been lying in the middle of the open space was now leaning against the wall, leaving enough space for Bodahn's wagon to enter. The wagon was tucked away in the back corner and Ceri could see Sandal and Amalia sitting in the back, heads close together, in contemplation of something that glimmered in the shadow of the canopy. Hearing their approach Sandal glanced up and broke into his habitual happy grin.

"Enchantment," he declared, holding out the knife he'd been working on. The runes engraved on the blade seemed to pulse with dim red light that brightened as Sandal turned the knife this way and that so Ceri could view it properly. The blade was shorter than the one that she'd left with her armour but still long enough to be a servicable weapon at close quarters.

"It's beautiful Sandal," she told the beaming dwarf. "These runes look familiar. What are they meant do?"

"They're from Grandpa Wilhelm's books," Amalia supplied helpfully, "that bit where he talks about the 'mage killer' things he invented. They're supposed to take mana away from things, you see. We thought they might work on those magic darkspawn Mr Alistair told me about."

"Enchantment!" Sandal nodded emphatically and pressed the hilt of the knife into Ceri's hand. "Present."

"Thank you," Ceri smiled. "Sandal, do you think you could use these runes to make something that will stop magic creatures from getting through the gate here?"

"Enchantment?" Sandal's usual sunny demenour faded as he peered first at Ceri and then at the gate. He cocked his head and held up his hand, moving it until it blocked his view of the opening. He turned to Amalia, murmering to her in a voice too low for Ceri to hear and pausing to hear her whispered answers. After a few moments he spoke again. "Easy," he declared, smiling once more.

"Sandal says that Mr Bodahn sometimes gets him to make shield stones," Amalia explained, glancing at the young dwarf for approval. "He puts runes on them and then they put them round their camp at night to stop anything getting in. He can do the same to the gateposts, mix in Grandpa Wilhelm's runes and it'll make a shield across the gate that'll suck the mana out of things."

"Enchantment," Sandal said with a sad shake of his head.

"Oh yes, sorry. Sandal says the runes won't last too long," Amalia added hurriedly. "He's got to rush it you see, so they'll wear out after half a day or so. Maybe faster if they're actually working."

"It could still mean the difference between suriving or being taken by those creatures," Kaitlyn said. "We should tell Bann Teagan and Ser Perth of this plan, quickly."

"We need a way of putting it up and taking it down though," Ceri warned. "Can you put the runes on something that can be hammered into the gateposts when the time comes?"

"Easy," Sandal repeated, pointing at the top of the gate. "Enchantment."

"We can use some of the metal spikes Mr Bodahn uses for traps," Amalia chirped, rummaging in the back of the wagon. She held up a handful of sharpened metal rods about the length of her forearm. "You can put the top ones in first and then the bottom ones can be put in at the last minute."

"Brilliant idea," Ceri praised the smiling girl. "We can pull everyone back into the Chantry and the Templars can take care of anything trying to get over the walls. Let's go find Teagan and Alistair, Kait. Things are looking up."

As though her words had summoned him, Ceri saw her fellow warden emerge from the Chantry. He was moving briskly but his steps faltered when he saw her. To her surprise his shoulders stiffened and his face set in an expression of sullen anger as he stalked past them, heading for the ruined gates.

"Alistair?" Ceri called weakly, shrinking from the smouldering burn coming to her through their shared taint. She approached him, wary of the snapping fury in his eyes. "What's wrong? Is it Morrigan again?"

"Morrigan?" His bitter laugh cut into her like ice. "At least she tells the truth, even if she is a bitch about it."

"Please, I don't understand. What's wrong? What have I done?" Panic began to take hold of her as she felt the world begin to tilt beneath her feet once more. She'd never seen him so angry, not in Honnleath, not even when Morrigan took her temper out on him.

"Oh, she doesn't understand," he sneered. "Let me make myself clear, _Lady Cousland_, I don't like being made a fool of."

Ceri's heart clenched at the sound of her assumed name. Her throat worked but no words came out as panic gripped her in earnest. His eyes were scathing as they raked her shaking form.

"What's this? Nothing to say? No clever comments? I _am _surprised. If you will excuse me _Lady_ Cousland, I have work to do."

She was stung into action as he turned away from her.

"Wait!" Her voice was shrill as she tried to make him listen. "We know how to stop the zombies. We've got a plan. You don't need to go out there."

"_Really," _ he replied in a flat voice. "Well then I suggest you share it with Teagan, since you're _such_ good friends. _I'm_ not interested."

The sheer volume of venom and fury, both in his voice and coming to her through the taint, hit her like a physical blow. Her throat closed and she could only watch as he stalked away. That was it then. He hated her. When they'd come out of the Wilds she'd expected it, would have welcomed his anger, feeling the burden of her guilt as she had. But now, a month or more later, she was coming to terms with the events of Ostagar and Alistair's friendship had come to mean more to her than anything. He protected her, as Mateo had professed to but without that unbearable smothering brutality that came with everything Mateo did.

_Should've told him,_ the spiteful voice sing-songed in her head. _You made it wo-rse._

She had. In her fear of him finding out that she wasn't the girl from Highever, not even from this world at all, it had never occurred to her what might happen if he found out exactly _who_ Ceridwen Cousland was. He thought she'd been lying to hurt him or because she didn't trust him. And now he hated her.

Kaitlyn's mouth was moving but no sound came to Ceri's dulled senses, as she drowned in the cold certainty that she was now entirely alone and had no-one to blame for it but herself. The older girl wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling Ceri away from the staring eyes and whispering voices back into the incense rich darkness of the Chantry. She saw concern on Teagan's face at sight of her, concern that shifted to disbelief and then anger. He said something to Kaitlyn as he hurried toward the main door and the girl tugged on Ceri's arm, towing her along back to Mother Hannah's office. It occurred to Ceri as she dropped into a chair that for once her eyes were dry. Apparently some things were too bad for tears.

* * *

**A/N** - Hello? I don't know if anyone out there is still interested in this but for anyone who was reading before I'm really sorry it's taken so long to get a new chapter up. In the last 18 months I've changed jobs twice, gone into therapy (that was fun - not!) & spent a lot of time stressing about how to be a good girlfriend & stepmum (both of which I've never done before & despite my wonderful boyfriend's assurances I'm still convinced I'm not very good at either).

I made the mistake of leaving my copy of Dragon Age at his house & now my stepdaughter is completely obsessed with it (to the point where every other sentance that comes out of her mouth starts with "About Dragon Age..."). But it has at least given me the inspiration to finish this chapter & start the next one - hopefully I'll be able to keep going with it now things are settling down. So here's the next installment of Ceri's story - hope you enjoy xx


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